


Wind-Tossed Feathers

by Andy_Braginsky, zelda_creator



Series: The Angel Records [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angel!England - Freeform, Aphrodisiacs, As the Feathers Lightly Fall, Both in the plot and the characters, Check out As the Feathers Lightly Fall!, Collars, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dancing, Demon!France, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Expect Changes, F/F, F/M, Forced Crossdressing, FrUK, Gen, Height Changes, Human Names Used, Light BDSM?, Light politics, M/M, Magic, Molestation, Multi, Other, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Screenplay/Script Format, Sexual Abuse, Sister story, Slow Burn, So much torture, Torture, Trauma, Violence, Wind-Tossed Feathers, Wingfic, Wow, Yikes, You'll get a much larger sense of the world from that story tbh, off to a very positive start on the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-05-15 03:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andy_Braginsky/pseuds/Andy_Braginsky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_creator/pseuds/zelda_creator
Summary: From simplicity to royalty, Arthur is plucked from his life as a soldier of Heaven and forced into the slavery of Hell. After everything that's happened, can he ever be truly happy?Sister story to As the Feathers Lightly Fall! (Season Five is up now, so go check out the series!)(NO LONGER ON HAITUS. SLOW UPDATES, READ BELOW)When it begins updating again, updates will NOT be regular. I don't really have the time for it all when I'm doing an INTENSE amount of research and collaboration to get this the best possible story. (Plus I also have multiple other projects going on right now. XD SORRY!!)





	1. Episode 1: The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference. Any music/videos used are also for reference, and nothing we own unless stated otherwise. We own nothing.
> 
> Coincides with AFLF, Season Five, Chapter 3/Episode 96.  
> Read here for the other side of the story! https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728430/chapters/34208963
> 
> May 29, 2018  
> 1/1

INTRODUCTION!!!!!

Hello everyone! Welcome to the rewritten version of Wind-Tossed Feathers! My name is zelda_creator (but you can just call me Zelda) and I will be mostly moderating this story, posting chapters, etc, but I felt it fair to add my wonderful cowriter, Andy, to this story, who made all of this possible. 

Yes! This is all in script format because that's the way we write this series, since most of it is written back and forth between myself and Andy over Skype and, now, Discord. 

If you are not familiar with the other part of this series, As the Feathers Lightly Fall--the sister story to this one--totally check it out! There are currently five seasons/“books” posted on both Andy_Braginsky’s page as well as my own. It’s more of a SpAus/SpaMano/SpRosTria story and it tells of all the events that led up to this story, if you are interested.

Wind-Tossed Feathers will be starting from a point that is in both series, the third episode of Season Five of AFLF when all these events start. The first seven episodes, all of which coincide with an AFLF episode, have been adjusted more for this story, so keep that in mind if you read both series.

I would like to thank Andy_Braginsky in particular for helping me start and rewrite WTF into something we can both be proud of. Without your comment so long ago about writing a little something from Arthur and Francis’ point of view, this story would have never been born. (Even though you definitely didn’t mean a full story and I just kind of went with it. XD)

We’ve worked very hard to make both stories much better than their original counterparts and I am very happy to present this story to you as it is. As such, please don’t be afraid to comment! We love hearing from you and hearing what you have to say.

Please enjoy the second installment of “The Angel Records,” Wind-Tossed Feathers.

 

**Each new chapter should be up and available to read every Tuesday and Thursday unless otherwise noted in the previous chapter endnotes. The posting of these chapters in particular will be concurrent with their AFLF posting.

 

* * *

 

  *****Throughout the ages, angels have been portrayed as beautiful beings with wings and glowing light, complete with halos and harps and flowing white gowns that cover perfectly sculpted bodies. While angels are beautiful, they are not always what they seem to be. The angels of Heaven are fierce and powerful beings that serve the Princes of Heaven that rule its kingdoms, and--ultimately--the Father. Many angels serve the Agency, which protects Heaven and Earth from threats, mostly eliminating demons along with other risks. These angels are soldiers, fighters, spies and more. And they are just like any other creature.

England: (Sits nervously with Lukas and Alfred at his sides, Tino on Lukas’ other side, as they wait to be summoned. After months of work, Lukas and Arthur--both magicae-specializing angels--have perfected a type of joint magic to defend against demons, a technique to--theoretically--destroy hundreds. Now just to have the Agency approve it.)

America: -ude. _Dude._  (Nudges Arthur, the angel snapping out of his thoughts.)  Did you not hear anything I just said?

England: (Grimaces.)  I’m afraid not. I apologize, I’m just . . nervous.

America: (Surprised.)  Why? You two have this _down._

England: There’s always something that could go wrong with magic.  -- _*Especially when I’m involved._

Norway: (Calmly.)  The demonstration will go fine.

Finland: (Gently smiles, nodding.)  It will. (Leans over, catching Arthur’s gaze.)  Everything will work out the way it is meant to.

England: (Murmurs a quiet prayer, nodding.)  . . As it is meant to. (Head whips up at the alarm going off, the four of them jumping up. Through the window, he spots an angel--an _archangel_ \--sprinting outside. He knew this one. Roderich Edelstein. Due back ages ago, but he was captured by demons. He’s top-priority to capture and retrieve. Without a word, the three angels that work for the agency bolted out after him, Alfred following along. He hisses at the angel.)  Stay back! We don’t need you getting hurt!

America: (Still follows.)  You’re going to need help, Artie.  

England: (Growls, not saying anything more to the stubborn angel as he focuses on capturing the archangel. As Roderich takes to the air, so do they, speeding after the escaping creature of Heaven. He doesn’t see which one of them throws a bola, trying to tangle and incapacitate the archangel’s wings, but he sees the apparatus bounce off one of the other’s wings, the bola tumbling to the ground. He sees the other’s fiery gaze whip back at them. And, as the archangel speeds up and angles himself through a portal, he feels as they get caught in the other’s tail wind. All five of them shoot through the portal and across the night sky of Hell, hitting the ground hard enough to leave a crater, all of them groaning in pain.

Austria: (Weakly stands, shaking his head and looking around to find his bearings. A small cough leaves him, Roderich limping to where the other angels are, wary of them. He keeps his blade in his hand, ready for them to attack and drag him back to Heaven, now that he's an archangel.)

America: (Groans in pain, coughing as he tries to get up.)

Norway: (Knocked out, he's still lying on the ground.)

Finland: (Slowly gets up, coughing painfully- half from the atmosphere and half from the pain of the crash -and watches Roderich carefully as he goes over to Lukas, checking on him worriedly.)

England: (Starts getting up, only to woozily sit back down, his head spinning as he coughs.)

Finland: (Frowns, looking Roderich in the eyes, coughing sporadically as he speaks.)  This changes _nothing_. We still need to take you back, Roderich. You know that.

Austria: (Growls.)  I am _not_ going back. I'm only here because I'm going to try and at least get you four back to Earth.

America: (Shakes his head.)  Dude, Heaven wants you back and with those-  (He points at Roderich's four wings.) -why would you stay _here?_

Austria: I stay here because it is _home_.

England: (Shakes his head, staring at the other incredulously.)  Why, of all places, do you consider this burning, horrific _mess_ to be _home?_ Have you gone _mad?_

Austria: Because _they’re_ here! The ones I _love_ , you ignorant fool!

Finland: You need to go back home- to _Heaven_ -Roderich. The toxic air must be getting to your mind.

Austria: It doesn't when you're inside one of their buildings- their young also have troubles with the air until they're older- so they're protected! Not every demon is bad!

England: (Stands, his sword resting in the ground like a cane in his grip to keep him from swaying.)  It doesn't matter. It's our duty to take you back. Make this easier for yourself and us, Roderich. Come willingly.

Austria: No.  (Holds his sword at the ready, the tiniest part of him balking when he sees Lukas stirring awake.)

Norway: Roderich, come home.

Austria: . . . Home is where the heart is. My heart is no longer in Heaven.

America: (Lunges at Roderich, only for the archangel to toss him over his head and away from himself. Alfred gasps in pain as he hits a boiling hot rock, rolling away from it.)

Finland: (Darts in, attacking Roderich suddenly, yet carefully, wary of the archangel's new strength. He tries to get Roderich's sword away from him, not succeeding as he's batted away.)

Norway: (Focusing on making a spell, Roderich is able to rush him, giving the angel a punch to the stomach that leaves Lukas breathless.)

England: (Attacks Roderich from behind, knocking the hilt of his sword into the other's head in an attempt to knock the archangel out.)

Austria: (Turns his head to look at Arthur.)  You're going to need to hit harder than that, now.  (He backhands Arthur, knocking him away.)

England: (Eyes widen right before the hit, grunting as he's knocked down. He groans, picking himself back up again.)

Finland: (Snarls, attacking Roderich with all the strength in his bones, able to withstand a little longer when Arthur joins in, the two working together to beat back the archangel and, hopefully, knock him out.)

America + Norway: (Both come rushing forward, only for Roderich to scream and push them back with a sound wave, all of them tumbling head over heels.)

England + Finland: (Both tumble away, Tino hitting his head on a rock along the way, the angel weakly trying to get up anyway.)

Austria: (Freezes when he feels vibrations, looking around rapidly to see where it's coming from. He holds up a hand to signal the angels to stop, spreading his wings a little to try and figure out where the sounds are coming from.)

Norway: (Pauses at Roderich's tense look, also looking around warily.)

England: (Is at Tino's side, making sure he's alright before looking up and around. _Something's coming. . ._ )  We need to leave.

America: Why? What's going on?

England: Can't you feel it? The approaching evil?

America: (Listens.)  I guess I hear _something_. . .  (He yelps when Roderich tackles him.)

Austria: Get down!  (A net flies over where Alfred had just been standing, but it leaves the angels untouched.)

*Suddenly, everything's a blur of activity as demons suddenly appear from all around them, the angels attacking what they view as monsters ferociously. The angels drive their blades deep into each demon they encounter, Lukas and Arthur using the spells they know and their joint magic to destroy demons left and right. Tino, a hardened warrior, takes his place in cutting them down with his sword, a killing machine and reaper of death among the devils surrounding him. Alfred, while young, also is a heavy-hitter, using his abnormal strength and wind powers to slice and punch through his enemies, tearing them apart. Roderich however, destroys demons just by touching them, and sometimes not even with his hands. Any being that touches even the angel's hair instantly dissolves into dust, vibrated apart by sound, the angel instantly reaching the shattering point of demon flesh. The four angels and an archangel take out over one hundred demons before a tsunami of magic rushes at them from all sides, slamming into them like a tidal wave and knocking them all out.

2p!Austria: (Steps over what's left of the fallen demons, giddy.)  Oh, my darlings~! This is absolutely _wunderbar!_ Angels! _Four_ angels! Four angels _and_ . . . an **_archangel!_ **  (He dances around giddily.)  Put them in separate cages, and our strongest ones! Make sure they're bound tight with collars and cuffs!  (He giggles.) I don't want them to wake up while I make them absolutely _powerless_. . .

*Demons take each of the angel and binds their powers with the collars, putting them in separate cages, making sure all of the holy creatures are locked up, unable to escape their bonds.

2p!Austria: (Goes into each cage while the angels are still unconscious, taking their Grace and bottling it up as well as their swords, lastly tying up their feathers so that they can't fly. Done, he has the cages all put in his large, cabin-sized carriage and waits for them to wake up.)

England: (Is one of the first to wake up, blinking groggily at the dim room, looking around to see metal and bars- Metal bars. He freezes, looking around at the cage he's in, as well as the others in cages like it beside him. Shifting, he feels the collar around his neck, his hand immediately going to it to try and pull it off.)

2p!Austria: (Tuts.)  Naughty little pet, you shouldn't pull at that. It might hurt you and damage your skin. It won't be good if that happens, that'll decrease your selling price.

England: (Spits, snarling.)   _Good!_  (Rips more at the collar, struggling to unclip it.)

2p!Austria: (Corrects.)   _Bad_. It means I'll have to train it out of you.

England: (Stares at the other angrily, his heart thumping in terror. _Train it out of you._ This can't be happening.)   _Stay_ **_away_ ** _from me._

2p!Austria: (Smiles cheerfully, his shark-like teeth glinting in the light.)  Not likely, **_darling_ **. I need to be able to put you on the market, and customers won't want to buy you- any of you, really -if they think you're going to try and kill them that first night.

England: (The color drains from his face at the striking difference between the red-haired demon's expression and his tone, shrinking back a tiny bit. His eyes narrow, stubborn. He's not going to get _broken_ and _trained_ by this piece of shit, or any pieces of shit like him.) _Who are you._

Austria: Indeed, who are you?

Norway: (Shifts up.)  I would like to know as well.

America: Yeah, who's this fucker?

Finland: (Lifts his chin indignantly, eyes narrowed in anger.)

2p!Austria: My sweet darlings, I, am _Ryszard_.

England: (Blinks, a little unsettled by the most fitting name for a bastard like this one.)   _What_ are you? A slave trader?

2p!Austria: (Giggles.)  Hole. In. One~!

Austria: (Mutters.)  Of course he is.

Finland: (Flatly.)  I'm not surprised. You look like that kind of scum.

2p!Austria: (Ignores that for now.)  Now onto other matters. What are your names? Or shall I make new, bound names for you?

America: What's a 'bound name'?

Austria: (Pales.)  It's where someone makes a new name for you and binds it to you.

2p!Austria: (Beams.)  Correct. Very good, archangel.

Norway: (Thinks, glancing at his comrades for confirmation that it is in agreement that they tell the slaver their names.)

*The angels trade minute nods, all in agreement.

Austria: Roderich.

America: Alfred.

Finland: Tino.

England: Arthur.

Norway: Lukas.

2p!Austria: Good angels. Angelis, voluptas.  [Angels, pleasure.]

Norway: (Gasps as he feels relief spread through his limbs, the aches and pains leaving him for a few minutes, as well as the other angels.)

England: (Sighs, sinking down and resting his head in a hand as everything in his body relaxes. After a few moments.)  How did you do that?

2p!Austria: (Coos.)  Trade secret, little angel. You have your magic, and I have mine.

England: (Quirks an eyebrow at him.)  As you say. I have little of _anything_ right now, actually. Your doing, I presume.

2p!Austria: (Giggles.)  Correct again! You lot are smart, aren't you.

Austria: (Recognizing a ticking time bomb, Roderich keeps quiet in his cage and huddles in his wings.)

England: (Snaps.)  We're obviously not _stupid_.

2p!Austria: Oh shush, don't raise your voice. It's unattractive.

England: (Is inwardly and outwardly taken aback, gaping at the other.)   _Excuse_ you?

2p!Austria: (Smirks smugly.)  Did I stutter?

England: (Frowns indignantly.)  You disgust me.

Finland: (Like the others, he's fallen completely silent, sensing something off with this demon. Something unstable. He nearly reaches through the bars to _punch_ Arthur to shut him up.)

2p!Austria: Arthur. Silentium [Silence] . . . Quod electrica inpulsa. [Electric shock].

England: (Eyes widen, silently screaming in absolute _agony_ as he feels the electric current course through his body. He tenses up, crying out before he's released, collapsing on the bottom of the cage, his body trembling in pain.)

America: (Cries out in alarm.)  Artie!

Finland: (Gasps, covering his mouth instantly to conceal it, however poorly.)

Austria: (Flinches, looking away.)

Norway: (His jaw clenches to keep from calling out.)

England: (Passes out in a heap, his wings splayed around him messily. Surrounded by darkness, he hears muted shouting before he’s completely out. It isn’t too long before he begins to stir from his place on the hard, metal floor, still weak from the previous torture, but now starting to regain consciousness, not knowing how long he was really out.)

America: (Seeing Arthur stir, he reaches towards him.)  Artie! Artie, are you okay?!

England: (Opens his eyes a bit to look towards Alfred, them sinking shut again in exhaustion and pain. He draws his wings closer to himself protectively, nodding the tiniest bit.)

America: (Breathes a sigh of relief.)

2p!Austria: I'm glad you're all so happy. I'll allow you lot to rest today, but tomorrow, we get right into it! Nighty night~!  (Trots off to take car of things at the end of the caravan, outside of his giant carriage.)

England: (Shakily sighs as the demon leaves, slowly heavily himself up to rest on the side of the cage, panting a bit from the effort as his muscles _burn_.)

Norway: Are you alright, Arthur?

America: Yeah dude, you totally had me worried!

England: (Gently.)  I'll live, but I've _never_ felt pain like that . . .  (He looks at the others, shaking his head.)  And there's nothing to do or say to prepare you for it. It's just _there_.  (He smiles the tiniest bit, finding it humorous in a morbid way. They were going to die here.)

Austria: (Trembles, hiding himself in his wings.)

Finland: (Notices the trembling, reaching over carefully.)  Roderich . . . ?

Austria: (Smacks Tino's hand away.)  Don't touch me!

Finland: (Yanks his hand back, sitting there. He speaks softly.)  Roderich, talk to us. You've been here- _lived_ here -so you know what they are like. Don't you?

Austria: (Hesitantly nods.)  A little, yes.

Finland: Then tell us. You know this world. _Prepare us._

Austria: (Wipes at one of his eyes, clearing away a tear.)  D-don't look them in the eye, keep yours lowered. Keep your wings down and submissive. Don't disrespect them and don't break anything of theirs. Don’t pray. Do as commanded and you- you'll be fine.

America: (Massively frowns.)

Norway: (Contemplative look.)

Finland: (Listens, but frowns as well, finding everything just going downhill for them.)

England: (Says nothing, just staring at Roderich, _very_ bitter in his heart.)

Austria: (Softly, though his tone becomes stronger and more resolute.)  Then, sometimes you get lucky. You find a demon who wants to love you and protect you, and will tear apart any who do you harm . . any who try to kill you . . he'll take care of them for you, and when you get hurt, he does everything in his power to help you make it through that long, terrible day, until the next day, and the next, and the next. A demon who introduces you to his friends and family and loves it when you love them too. A demon who holds you when you need him to, and gives you plenty of space in that same breath. A demon who stops and then goes on with barely a word to let him know what you want. A demon that will accept you completely and love you for who _you_ are . . and not just for your feathery wings.

England: (Bitterly.)   _You_ got lucky, Roderich. And, if you're even _luckier_ , he'll find you and get you out of this mess. The mess _you_ started. And what about _us?_ Hmm? Have you even fucking _realized_ what is about to happen to us all? Oh, forgive me . . _you_ are going to get saved by your _demon_.

Austria: (Softly.)  I don't care. You're the ones who followed me to try and keep me from my home. I just want my mates back.

England: (Snarls at Roderich.)  You _bastard!_ You're the one who _sucked_ us into this God-forsaken realm! We were just doing our jobs! Our sworn duty!  (Lowly.) But you wouldn't know about duty, would you?

Austria: (Quietly.)  You're the ones who followed me.  (He then looks up, glaring at Arthur.)  As for duty . . I have a new one now. A duty to get back to my mates and king. _Not_ serve Heaven. Then again, you wouldn't know too much about having such strong connections, considering your _lack_ of them.

*All angels cover their mouths. _Shots fired._

England: (Heart breaks a little, his rage coming out to fill the cracks in his lonely heart.)   _You son of a_ **_bitch!_ ** (Slams against the cage, snarling at Roderich.)   _You will fucking die here._ Just like the rest of us. You think you're special because your mate is a king of _Hell?_ You're nothing but a pathetic bitch! _Brainwashed_ into thinking this- this _traitorous act_ is acceptable. And, you know what?  (He glares darkly at Roderich.) You're not even fit to be in Heaven anymore. You don't deserve it.

Austria: (Taunts.)  Then you followed me here for _nothing_ . You are here for _no reason._ Just like you _had_ no reason to be to be in Heaven either.

England: (Screeches, just wanting to get his hands on the archangel. To _kill_ him.)  Just you fucking wait, you weak _whore_ . With that collar on, you don't stand a chance against me. When I get my hands on you, you're **_dead_ **.

Austria: (Smirks.)  I hope you're prepared for the cost you'll pay afterwards- I wonder what Ryszard will do to punish you _that_ time.

England: (Glares.)   _I'll gladly pay it tenfold._

Austria: (Snorts.)  I doubt your body and mind would survive- he might start breaking things to the point they become _useless_.  (Innocently.)  But you're used to that, aren't you? Being useless?

England: (Glares, forcing himself to take deeper breaths, turning and sitting away from the others. He doesn't fucking have to take this shit. It wasn't his fault that his brother couldn't teach for shit. He'd tried for _years_ on his own to perfect his magic, only for it to continually backfire on him. That's why he began blending it with alchemy and other forms of chemistry to be able to contribute. Become a soldier and fight. Perhaps he was useless, but now? He was full of anger and deep, deep sadness.)

Austria: (Sighs, folding his wings back around himself.)

America: . . .  (Lowly whistles, relieved that the brutal verbal smackdown is over.)

Finland: (Looks between the tense and recluse angels, his own heart uneasy with all the hatred going around.)

Norway: . . .  (Looks away, checking his nails on habit. Dammit, he broke one.)

-

*It's late evening when Ryszard comes in.

2p!Austria: Hello little dovies~! Time to go beddy-bye!  (He grabs a several large cloths, draping each one over a cave.)  Sleepy-sleep, and we'll get started tomorrow.)

America: Wait, what about food?

England: (Doesn't even bother looking up, almost glad that their cages are covered. He's grown to like being alone.)

2p!Austria: Ah, thank you for reminding me, little dovie.  (He goes over to a corner where there are water bottles, clipping it onto the side of each cage.)  There you go, that's what you get for tonight! Goodnight! (He finishes covering the cages, going past a curtain to get into bed, falling asleep himself after finishing some paperwork.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42656539634/)

Finland: (Pulls his wings around himself, alarmed and 100% _not_ okay with this. They're being treated like _animals_.)

England: (Curls around himself, lying there silently as he listens to the others.)

America: (Doesn't understand, doesn't get it, and why the fuck did Ryszard give them something that looks like a water bottle for guinea pigs?)

Norway: . . .  -- _*Well shit._

Austria: _*At least it isn't pet dishes on the floor._ (Roderich tentatively drinks from it before softly speaking.)  It's clean. There's no dirt or drugs in it; it's safe to drink.

Finland: (Softly.)  . . . That's good, at least.

America: . . How do you drink from it?

Austria: Tap the bead with your tongue and suck. Water will come out with the movement of the bead.

Finland: (Tentatively tries what Roderich says, getting clean water as well. Nothing seems wrong with it.)

America: (Also drinks, relieved that it's cold and is able to take away some of the heat of Hell.)

Norway: . . .  (Silently drinks, surprised the water actually tastes sweet.)

England: (Listens to the others, knowing they're foolish enough to try and drink it. He's not. He's sure something's in it.)

*The rest of the angels go to sleep, sated from the water that's chocked full of vitamins and minerals.

England: (Falls into an uneasy sleep not much later.)


	2. Episode 2: The Slaver Ryszard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to check out the concurrent episode of As the Feathers Lightly Fall to get the whole story! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> May 31, 2018  
> 1/1

*****The next morning, Ryszard throws off the sheets.

2p!Austria: Upsie-daisy, my dovie-darlings~!!!

England: (Wakes, looking at the red-head grumpily. He sits up, brushing a hand through his messy hair, not really caring. It's always messy.)

Austria: (Stirs, rising, as well as the other angels.)

2p!Austria: (Hands them all fruit cups.)  Here, drink and eat this all up and then I can start working with you all.

America: (Eats, finding the fruit cup tasty.)

Finland: (Glad to have food, he eats and drinks the sweet syrup, a little uneasy at the demon's words.)  Working with us?

2p!Austria: Oh, you know~. Making sure you know how to serve, how to be polite, that sort of thing.

Finland: Ah. I see. . .  (Continues eating silently, looking at the other angels. He peers at Arthur, glad the stubborn creature is also eating.)

Austria: (Quietly eats, blending into the background.)

Norway: (Watches the whole room while he eats, untrusting.)

2p!Austria: (Watching the angels, he grabs the first one done- Lukas. Pushing his cage along, Ryszard moves it upstairs, then opening the door.)

Norway: (Somersaults out of the cage, sending a kick at Ryszard, only for the demon to speak before he can, time seeming to slow down around them.)

2p!Austria: Lukas. Silentium [Silence] . . . Quod electrica inpulsa. [Electric shock].

Norway: (Screams in silent pain, thrashing on the floor as spikes of electricity pound through him until he's exhausted.)

2p!Austria: Let's try that again, shall we? Stand, little dove.

Norway: (Panting, Lukas looks around the room, trying to find something for a weapon.)

2p!Austria: (Rolls his eyes.)  Lukas, stabit.

Norway: (Gasps as he's forced to stand, his legs trembling under him.)

2p!Austria: Very good . . . now go to the mattress and kneel facing me, legs apart. _Don't make me order you._

Norway: (Swallows, going over mattress and doing as asked.)

2p!Austria: Take off all of your clothes.

Norway: (His eyes widen, trying to yell at Ryszard, but he's still silenced from the earlier order. Agitated, he gets off the bed and tries to escape downstairs, bolting.)

2p!Austria: (Giggles.)  Genua~. [Kneel~.]

Norway: (Groans as he's forced to his knees, his body impacting the floor hard.)

2p!Austria: Cubitum ire, Lukas.  [Go to (the) bed.]

Norway: (He can feel his helplessness and frustration grow with each step he's forced to take, a ball of fury in his chest as he undresses, kneeling on the bed in full nude for the demon. Lukas gasps when Ryszard runs his hands down Lukas' body, then makes notes on a piece of paper. Ryszard checks the angel's eyes, teeth, hearing, before checking out his flexibility.)

2p!Austria: Nod if it hurts, okay~?  (The demon stretches the angel's back and limbs with his hands, putting Lukas in various positions until the angel nods.)  Very good flexibility. Now if you could just lean forward- in fact- (Ryszard lifts some of the fire frame from the footboard of the bed, revealing it's a cleverly disguised set of stocks, locking Lukas in it. The magicae angel kicks out, trying to smack the slaver with his wings in defense, but Ryszard merely controls the chains hanging from the canopy over the bed to come down and tangle around Lukas' wings, making movement impossible.)  There we go, now you can't hurt either of us. (Ryszard snaps on some gloves.) Goody for me, you angels all seem to be virgins, or at least, _unclaimed_ submissives, which really does make the price go up. Everyone want to fuck you feathered little sluts until you're panting like a bitch in heat and heavy with a litter of tiny demmens.  (As he talks, Ryszard massages both of Lukas' wing glands, taking the oil for lube and inserting one finger.)

Norway: (Lukas jolts at the intrusion, scrambling to try and get the demon _out_ of him, silently crying out when a second finger is inserted.)

2p!Austria: (Withdraws his fingers after a short while.)  It seems your womb is perfectly fine, so that's good, now how about that little penis of yours, hmm~?  (He strokes Lukas' penis into erectness, beaming when he's able to get the angel to cum.) That seems to be in perfect order too.

Norway: (Tries not to throw up as he's touched, scarred from being forced into being touched in such a way. When he cums, a sob shakes through Lukas' body, the angel going limp in humiliation.)

2p!Austria: (Undoes the bindings on Lukas.)   _Ambulate_ , Lukas.  [Walk]

Norway: (Weakly stands, Lukas walking to the door.)

2p!Austria: Good boy, I didn't even have to ask you to stop.  (He pats Lukas' head.) Now why don't you put this on? It's either this or nude~.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42656531694/in/photostream/)

Norway: (Gritting his teeth, Lukas puts on the offensive article.)

2p!Austria: (Praises.)  Good dove! (He pats Lukas on the head, then grabbing his collar to lead him over to a chair, sitting the angel down. Ryszard kneels at his feet, grabbing some high heels and slipping them on Lukas. Then, he slips on something so that Lukas can't take them off~.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42656529184/in/photostream/)

Norway: (Lukas stands when Ryszard grabs him by the collar, forcing him to his feet. The angel chokes a little when he's forced to follow behind, his hands automatically grabbing onto Ryszard's hand to help keep his feet under himself as he stumbles along with the insanely tall heels strapped to his feet, all the way back to his cage where Ryszard tosses him inside.)

2p!Austria: (Purrs.)  Good boy, Lukas. But I'm not going to release your voice just yet, I want this to remain a surprise for the rest of my little aviary~.  (Ryszard transports the cage back downstairs, making sure it's covered and far enough away from the other angels that they can't peek. His eyes scan through the doves before he decides on one.)  How about _you?_  (Ryszard smirks sadistically at Arthur. Not waiting for an answer, Ryszard pushes Arthur's cage upstairs, calmly opening the door.)

England: (Stays up to the back, his wings spread a little in defense.)  You tell me what the hell you have planned before I come out. I won't willingly until you do.

2p!Austria: Just a check up, making sure none of that _nasty_ Hell air isn't still affecting you~.

England: (Distrustfully, he pads out with his wings lowered, his eyes trained on the demon. When he's really close to Ryszard, he lashes out, not going down without a fight.)

2p!Austria: Arthur, prohibere. Genua.  [Stop. Kneel.]

England: (Grunts as he's forced to kneel, growling.) _Release me._

2p!Austria: Nope!  (He pops the 'p' in the word, giving Arthur a sharp slap.)  Now, little Arthur, cubitum ire. [Go to the bed.]

England: (Winces at the hit, alarmed as his body starts towards the bed on his own. He tries to resist, it _very_ hard and painful to do so.)   _No!_

2p!Austria: (Rolls his eyes.)  Do I _really_ need to silence you?

England: (Eyes widen, shaking his head.)  Don't, please. (Distracted by the action, his body jerks forward, him nearly _falling_ onto the bed.)

2p!Austria: Goody! Now if you would just kneel with your legs slightly apart- after stripping entirely, of course-

England: (Snarls, cutting him off.)  I thought this was _just_ a check up?

2p!Austria: How can I do my check up if I can't see all of you? I mean, really, you could have gotten something nasty during the battle, like a Helleach or a-

England: What is a _Helleech?_

2p!Austria: A nasty little creature, but that's beside the point. You could have also gotten a wound of sorts, so you _need. To. Strip._

England: (Flatly, seriously trying to work around being naked around this _creep_ .)  Don't you think I would know if I was wounded or carrying something? I can literally sense evil, even _without_ my power.

2p!Austria: Some of our weapons also have a numbing quality to them. So you can either take off your clothes willingly or by _force_.

England: (Scowls, not moving.)

2p!Austria: Arthur, _habena, stultus angelus._ [strip, stupid angel.]

England: (Grits his teeth, his limbs shaking from the effort of resisting the other.)

2p!Austria: (When Arthur's finished stripping, Ryszard finally comes forward, suddenly whipping the angel into the restraints that Lukas was in only a few minutes ago.)

England: (Cries out, snarling as his wings are restrained as well.)   _Get OFF ME!_

2p!Austria: You are very stupid, aren't you? I gave you a chance to play nice, but you had to be _naughty_ . A naughty little boy who only wants his way. So before your check up, you're getting a spanking.  (Grabs a leather paddle, hitting it against his hand.) Any last words, little dove? I may be more lenient . . or _harsh_ , depending on what you say.

England: (Eyes widen at the thick leather paddle, a good part of him screaming to beg for forgiveness, yet . . . he has standards. He has morals and beliefs, and begging for forgiveness for not wanting to be touched broke every one. He turns his head away, turning his face down as he prepares for what's to come.)

2p!Austria: (Sighs.)  Oh dovie, you need to smarten up and lose that pride of yours.  (Ryszard brings the paddle down with a hard smack, giving him a good twenty hits before stopping.)

England: (Bites his arm to keep from crying out, his body trembling at the end of the beating.)

2p!Austria: (Cheerfully as he places a freezing cold ice pack on Arthur's butt.)  Now for the _rest_ of your check up~!  (Ryszard feels all along Arthur's body, making sure that he has no injuries or abnormalities, then checking on his teeth. He mutters.)  . . . A little crooked . . . (Then the demon puts on gloves, feeling up the other's wings for his glands and the natural lube. Once he's got that, he's sticking a finger in Arthur's anus and stretching it out. Conversationally.)  I half-expected to find a stick in here.

England: (Grunts, growling in return at the unwanted intrusion, as well as the comment. As Ryszard adds another finger, he cries out, biting back down on his arm. _He doesn't want this. This isn't_ **_right_ ** _._ )

2p!Austria: (He finishes that part quickly, then going to Arthur's penis.)  My, most of you angels are quite small when it comes to this part. (Begins pumping his hand around Arthur.)

England: (Cries out, hating every bit of this. This is crude and disgusting and _unnatural_ . He growls out.)  W-what did y-y-you expec- _ahhh_ **-expect?**

2p!Austria: (Blinks in surprise when Arthur cums.)  Hmm, more than I expected. Well, everything on you works, so I'll just let you out and allow you to get changed.  (He unlocks the stocks, throwing an identical outfit to the one that Lukas is currently wearing to the angel.) I'll help you put on your shoes~.

England: (Looks at the article disgustedly, but puts it on anyway, just to cover himself a little rather than not at all. Done, he pulls his wings around himself a bit more, hating this so much. _Then_ , he sees the _shoes_ .)  You have _got_ to be kidding me. _That's_ what you're having me _walk_ in?

2p!Austria: I _know_ right? Aren't they totes adorbs?  (Sits Arthur in a chair, locking the shoes on him.)  There we go, now you can go back into your cage~.

England: (Eyebrows furrow, standing unsteadily in the large heels, stumbling along back to his cage. He questions.)  Is there a _reason_ for this . . interesting fashion choice?

2p!Austria: You can't fly and you're having trouble walking, _that's_ why.

England: (Frowns more. While smart for Ryszard, it pissed him off to no end.)  Hm.

2p!Austria: (Locks the cage, scooting Arthur back down stairs. After taking care of the other angels, he goes and has a good, leisurely fuck with two other demons in his room.)

England: (Silent, he watches as one angel after another joins them, Roderich appearing last. While some of them murmur amongst themselves, he remains perfectly silent, listening to everything around them.)

Austria: (Traces the cuffs on his wrists.)  This is what is doing it . . this is what forces us to listen to him . . .

Norway: I thought so.

Finland: (Nods quietly, his wings pulled around himself to conceal his _mostly_ naked body.)  Now just to figure out how to get them off.

Austria: (Inspects them.)   _We_ won't be able to. They're blood-bound. They will only respond to Ryszard.

Finland: (Casually.)  Then we'll kill him.

Austria: (Raises an eyebrow.)  And then what? Attempt to fly back to Heaven while his caravan surrounds us? Escaping Hell is harder than it looks.

Finland: We'll figure it out.  (He looks at Roderich seriously.)  We're not staying here.

Austria: (Looks away.)  I will not help you in your endeavor.

Finland: (Coldly, his expression unchanging.)  Then we will not help you in yours.

Austria: Good thing I don't need your help, we're already headed to the South.

America: That where your boyfriends are?

Austria: I believe you mean 'husbands'.

America: If you want to call them that . . .

Austria: (Hotly.)  He _is_ that!  (Sadly.)  I may not have his mark on me anymore from transforming into- into _this_ \-  (He gestures to himself.)  -but my mark is still on him and it still _stands_.

England: (Frowns, scowling at the archangel.)  As you say. You say he's the king of the South? Tell me: How long have you been gone?

Austria: (Thinks, muttering to himself.)   _I knew I saw the date somewhere-_ it's been seven months, about.

England: (Scoffs.)  Are you so sure he even _remembers_ you? Perhaps he's moved on to the next fuckable creature in sight. . .

Austria: (Snaps.)  You don't know him! If he wanted another, he would have cast me aside when my feathers were cut! When he learned that I might be permanently damaged and might have never been able to _fly_ again!  (Softer.)  He . . he _stayed_. . . which is more than I can say for others in my life.

England: (Eyes widen slightly, surprised at that news.)  Your feathers were cut?

Austria: (Nods, resting his head on his arms from his sitting position.)

England: (Hums, eyebrow quirking the tiniest bit.)  And how did _that_ happen?

Austria: The demoness who cut them was getting revenge on me for being the reason her brother was killed.

England: Hmm. And your . . _husband_ didn't protect you from this?

Austria: During that time, another king had come to visit . . a dangerous one . . so he was saying goodbye to him before the king left for the North.

England: Hmm.  (Remains silent, not feeling like continuing the interrogation.)

America: Sounds like it sucked.

Austria: (Lowly.)  That is an understatement.

England: (Dryly.)  Months of pain and suffering while you wait for feathers to grow back? Indeed, to say that it 'sucked' is an understatement.

Norway: It's hard enough having only three primaries cut. To have all of them cut . . that is an angel's personal hell.

America: (Wilts under the rebuttals.)

England: (Gently.)  You didn't know, Alfred. Relax.

America: (Nods, scrunching down. He mutters.)  This is so fucking uncomfortable.

Norway: Agreed.  (Shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position.)

Finland: There _isn't_ a comfortable way to sit in this ridiculous outfit.

Austria: (Sighs.)  Who knew I would miss the lingerie?

England: (Snorts.)  Of course he had you wearing lingerie . . .

Austria: In the beginning, yes, after I tried to kill him ten times.

England: You obviously didn't _succeed_ .  (He smirks slightly.)  My, my. He must have been something horrible to have you trying to kill him _ten times._

Austria: (Flatly.)  He killed my lover, tied up my wings, _broke_ my wings, spanked me, kept a vibrator within me that he could adjust as he wished, he made me dance basically naked in front of his court for _weeks_ , also publicly spanked me if I didn't listen to him and did other public humiliations and he made me eat and drink like a dog. From a pet dish on the floor. So yes, he did do terrible things to me. But he never raped me.  (Quieter.) And he was a very broken man. An insane, heartbroken man with numerous addictions.

England: You married a broken man, then. Congratulations.

Austria: After I and others helped him heal. And the South has _never_ been more prosperous.

England: (Hums.)  I'll believe it when I see it.

Austria: You will, when we get to the South.

England: (Huffs.)  Aren't we all just _so_ excited about _that_. . .

Austria: I am. It means I won't have to talk to _you_ after this.

America: _Oooooooh_.

England: (Glares at Alfred.)  Oh, _shut up_.

America: _Make me,_ briar-brows.

England: (Reaches through the bar and grabs Alfred's ankle, yanking him closer.)  I wouldn't suggest saying that to _me_ , little one . . .

America: Ack!!! I'm not part of your flock anymore, so let me go!

England: (Flicks the other's nose, frowning.)  Quiet, you.

America: Tch, _hypocrite_.

England: Hmpf!  (Gives him a light smack for good measure before settling, shaking his head at the other's behavior.)  Just quiet down, Alfred.

America: (Makes a noise at being smacked, pouting.)

England: (Rolls his eyes, shifting his wings.)

Norway: I wonder how long we will be traveling.

Finland: Indeed. Hopefully it won't be long . . .  

Austria: It depends on us. The longer we stay wild, the longer he keeps us incapacitated and close to him.

England: (Frowns, staying quiet at that.)

Norway: I see. How do you know this?

Austria: Ryszard and I talked about it over supper.

England: (Quirks an eyebrow.)  You spoke with him, did you?

Austria: Yes, I did. After my check up.

America: Dude, how could you after _that?_

Austria: I know monsters and how to act around them. It's how you keep yourself from getting hurt.

England: (Sneers.)  So you rolled over and let it happen. _Disgusting_.

Finland: (Snaps, getting fed up with the older angel.)  Arthur, shut _up_ , you bitter, old _pigeon_.

England: (Balks.)   _Excuse_ you?

Finland: (Glares at him.)  You well heard me.

England: (Turns his nose up at the other, turning away in silence.)

Norway: (Sighs, rolling his eyes.)

Finland: (Sighs, rubbing his temples frustratedly.)

America: (Wisely keeps quiet, instead fiddling with the straps keeping his feet in the heels.)

Austria: (Done with the others, he folds himself in his wings, Roderich's back to them.)

England: (Glares at the archangel when the other's back is turned, still bitter and prideful to the end.)

2p!Austria: (Returns a few hours later with small bowls of soup, sliding them into the cage.)  I hope you enjoy this, dovies~.

Finland: (Pulls his bowl closer, looking at it carefully, glancing to the other angels, unsure.)

England: (Frowns, just watching Ryszard silently, not moving for the bowl.)

Austria: (Sips it, nodding.)  Thank you, sir. It's quite good.

America: . . .  (Drinks the soup slowly.)

Norway: (Follows along, his eyes flitting between Ryszard and the other angels.)

2p!Austria: Oh, you're welcome little dovie~.

Finland: (Follows in suit, drinking his own soup warily.)

England: (Wraps his wings around him, looking away from the demon and ignoring the soup.)

2p!Austria: (Leans on Arthur's cage.)  Awww~. You're not going to eat?

England: (Wraps his wings tighter around himself, praying the demon just _leaves him_ **_alone_ ** _._ )

2p!Austria: (Mock-sighs.)  I suppose I'll just have to take it away- after all, you're not going to eat it. Might as well give it to someone who _does~._

England: (Doesn't even move. He'd rather starve.)

2p!Austria: (Takes Arthur's bowl away, giving it to a slave that seems to have popped in from out of nowhere.)  Find a corner to eat this in, would you? I'll watch them. (He pulls out an armchair, reading a thick book.)

Slave: (Takes the bowl and goes to sit in a corner, gratefully eating the food given to him. It's good to eat and not be hungry.)

England: (Hides in his wings completely, resting in silence. He's hungry, but not desperate.)

2p!Austria: (Has a different slave come over to take away the bowls when the angels are finished.)  Goodnight, dovies. See you in the morning~. (Trots away, one of the slaves coming over to cover the angel cages.)

Austria: (Hums, leaning against the bars. To Arthur.)  He won't let you die, you know.

England: (Lowly.)  Why do _you_ care? You'll be free soon enough, after all.

Austria: I'm not heartless. Besides, I am going to do what I can for all of you, to at least try and make your lives bearable down here.

England: (Laughs quietly and humorlessly.)  Bearable? How could life be bearable in a place of fire and hate and heartless beasts?

Austria: Arthur, we are the first angels to be caught in over a thousand years, meaning that no demon currently, on record, owns an angel. As such, there are laws that prohibit the sale of angels without the knowledge of the king of the country that angel is being sold into and the country the angel is currently being kept in. These laws also extend to say that all of the kings have the right, at the present date, to buy an angel before any other demon until all of the kings possess one, unless one king gifts a noble an angel or signs specialized papers saying that that angel may be sold to the buyer that resides in that king's particular country. That of course means that we are nearly guaranteed a home in one of their castles, a luxurious existence, I assure you.

England: (Lowly.)  You don't know that for sure.

Austria: I have met all of the kings. While a little rough, they were all kind to me. Just respect them and they will protect you with their life.

England: Go to sleep, Roderich. Leave me be.

Austria: At least consider my words. All of you.  (Roderich shifts, laying down.) Goodnight. (He covers himself with his wings, going to sleep.)

England: (Closes his eyes, willing away his thoughts as he tries to sleep, the other angels dozing off as well.)

-

*A few days later.

2p!Austria: (Comes downstairs, trying to figure out who to work with.)  Hmm . . who to train _today_ . . .  (His eyes land on Tino.)  How about _you~?_

Finland: (Heart races a little, willing his expression not to change from the cold look- one he's had on for the last couple of days -as he looks at Ryszard silently.)

2p!Austria: Jo, it's your turn- I mean the others have had a turn, so now it's yours~.  (He goes up to the cage, clipping a leash to Tino's collar and unlocking the door. He pulls on the leash.)  Come along.

Finland: (Hesitates before coming out, following Ryszard. He watches the other carefully, wary about what's going to happen.)

2p!Austria: (Takes Tino upstairs, sitting down on a chair. Ryszard gestures to a tray of food.)  Bring that over here and set it on the table.

Finland: (Takes a deep breath as he grabs the tray, padding over with his head down. As awful as being _owed_ by a king of Hell sounded, it was a lot better that being _here_ , so he listens to what Roderich had said. He wants to have a _chance_ to get out. He sets the tray down lightly, silently listening.)

2p!Austria: (Points to the floor next to his chair.)  Kneel.

Finland: (Kneels on the floor beside him.)

2p!Austria: Good boy.  (He pets through Tino's hair, sipping the tea that was on the tray.)

Finland: (Closes his eyes, staying still under the other, despite wanting to _rip his fucking arm off._ )

2p!Austria: (Continues to stroke through Tino's hair even when he finishes his tea, going on to reading his book.)

Finland: (Sits there silently, his head bowed under the other's touch, tired and frustrated.)

2p!Austria: (Suddenly grips the back of Tino's head, tilting it back to deeply kiss the little angel.)

Finland: (Gasps in surprise and pain, his eyes scrunching shut as he's kissed by the demon, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides.)

2p!Austria: (Pulls away after a final peck.)  Good boy. Here, have a treat. (Ryszard puts a raspberry in his palm, holding it in front of Tino's face to eat.)

Finland: (Hesitates before taking the raspberry from the other's hand, eating it silently with his head down, feeling humiliated to be put through this.)

2p!Austria: (Stands, picking up Tino in a bridal-carry, ferrying him to another room.)

Finland: (Hangs onto the other quietly to stabilize himself, keeping his head down. He doesn't want to know where they're going.)

2p!Austria: (He takes them to a dance studio, unceremoniously dropping Tino.)

Finland: (Yelps, trying to catch himself as he falls, a tiny glare sent at Ryszard for being _dropped_ , before picking himself back up again.)

2p!Austria: Sarada.  (He looks at the slave as she comes over.)  Teach this little bird how to dance, would you?

Sarada: (Nods, turning on the music.)  First step here, then- (She proceeds to teach the angel how to belly dance.)

Finland: (Follows along, slowly learning the moves with the slave's help until he's able to do it somewhat well for his first time with the dance.)

2p!Austria: You will be dancing every day, but not with the others. Each one of you will be learning separately unless there is a special lesson.

Finland: (Curiously.)  Is there a reason why?

2p!Austria: Tino, prement. Don't question things outside of how to serve your master.  [pinch]

Finland: (Winces at the short pain, lowering his gaze.)  My apologies, sir.

2p!Austria: (Nods.)  Continue dancing until your legs give out.

Finland: (Doesn't even respond to the command, just doing so. It's some time before his shaky legs buckle and he falls, barely able to catch himself with his hands. He pants, his whole body trembling from over-exertion.)

2p!Austria: Sarada, bathe him. I'll be in my study.  (He leaves.)

Sarada: (Picks up the small angel, easily carrying him.)

Finland: (Is limp in the other's hold, resting against her tiredly.)

Sarada: (Carries Tino to the bathroom, setting him on the edge of the tub and undressing him. When he's naked, she slips him into the tub and begins washing him.)

Finland: (Gently pushes her off, minutely glaring at the slave.)  At least let me bathe myself. . . (Immediately starts scrubbing himself, cleaning up on his own.)

Sarada: (Squeezes one of Tino's glands- HARD.)

Finland: (Cries out, instantly wilting in pain as he whimpers, drawing around himself protectively.)

Sarada: (Goes back to scrubbing Tino.)

Finland: (Quietly sits there, wanting to hide and be alone where he's _safe_.)

Sarada: (Massages the shampoo into Tino's hair, gently humming.)

Finland: (Gently leans into the massage, taking a little comfort from it, even if he hates being treated like a child.)

Sarada: (Finishes washing up the rest of the angel, picking him up out of the tub and dressing him, them carrying him back to Ryszard.)

Finland: (Sits quietly in the other's arms, not wanting to go back to Ryszard.)

2p!Austria: Wunderbar.  (Takes Tino from Sarada, sitting him down at the edge of the bed and spreading his legs to kneel between them.)

Finland: (Tenses up, watching the other cautiously, honestly growing to be afraid of Ryszard's actions even before his intent is known.)

2p!Austria: (He pulls out Tino's penis, licking at the tip and sides, moaning over the sweet taste.)

Finland: (Whimpers, closing his eyes tightly as he tries to mentally escape, his hands gripping the sheets.)

2p!Austria: (Takes Tino into his mouth, sucking and licking the penis, deep throating the sweet angel.)

Finland: (Quietly cries out, biting back as much of the sound as he can. He tries imagining it's someone else- _anyone else_ -and tries to relax. It only works a small bit, Tino _all too aware_ what was happening to him.)

2p!Austria: (Pushes Tino back, smearing some lube on his fingers to drive them in and out of the other's tight hole.)

Finland: (Cries out, mostly in pain at the fast and forced pace, and sobs, just wanting him **_OUT_ **.)

2p!Austria: (Smirking evilly, he doesn't stop, not until the angel has cum and is a sobbing mess.)  Sarada, I tire of this one. Take him back to his cage.

Sarada: (Nods, carrying the angel away and back downstairs, locking him back up in his cage.)

Finland: (Immediately curls up, quietly crying in his wings, full-body tremors rocking his small body.)

America: (Alarmed, he comes to the closest side of the cage to Tino.)  Tino, Tino?!

Finland: (Pulls his wings tighter around him at his name, sobbing.)

England: (Eyebrows furrow worriedly, sitting close beside Tino's cage and speaking quietly.)  Relax, Tino. It's just us here. . .

Norway: Focus on breathing.

Finland: (Shudders, trying to take deeper, fuller breaths, the effort only interrupted by hiccups and quieter, briefer sobs. Forcing himself to relax more, he rests on the floor of his cage, keeping his wings tightly around him.)

Austria: Rest. I'll let you know when someone comes in.

Finland: (Stays there, only lightly trembling now that he's calmed. It's a long time before his wings relax, not quite as tightly wrapped around himself.)

America: . . Th-they aren't going to try an- and impregnate us, are they?

England: (Calmly, his tone only staying that way for Tino's sake.)  I do not think so. Having been impregnated lowers our price, after all.  (Softly.) It doesn't stop them from doing other things, though.

Austria: They won't put their members in us either. They will want to keep us 'cock virgins', as Ryszard put it.

England: (Hums, nodding. Gently.)  At least that's one less thing to worry about.

America: (Is a tiny bit relieved.)  I- I think I'm the one he's going to t-train tomorrow.

England: (Reaches through the bars, slipping it quietly into the younger angel's hand.)  You'll come back here when you're done, and we'll be waiting, no matter what.

America: (Grips Arthur's hand.)  Thanks, Artie.

England: (Softly, squeezing the other's hand in return.)  You're welcome.

Norway: (The closest in relation to Tino, he pets a hand through his wings.)

Finland: (Whimpers, flinching before moving closer, leaning into the touch. He scoots up to the cage, huddling with Lukas, just needing to be with someone to comfort him.)

Norway: (Holds Tino through the bars of their cages, petting through his hair comfortingly.)

Finland: (Leans into the other, making quiet sounds of discomfort on occasion. Quietly, he whispers to Lukas.) _I can't do this. I_ **_can't_ ** _._

Norway: (Softly.)  We don't have a choice.

Austria: Imagine it's someone you have an attraction to. Think about anything other than what's happening to you.

Finland: (Rests his forehead against the bars, speaking quietly, his voice emitting watery-sounding words that reflects his inner anguish.)  I _tried_ . So fucking much . . . I can't _do_ this. I _c-can't-_  (Covers his mouth, choking back a sob.)

England: (Gently.)  Breathe, Tino.

Austria: (Watches the pitiful scene.)

Finland: (Wraps himself in his wings, slumping against the cage with Lukas near him as he quietly sobs.)

America: (Stays in his corner, frightened.)

England: (Looks over to Alfred, scooting closer and gesturing him over.)

America: (Comes over to Arthur, shivering.)

England: (Extends a wing through the bars, holding Alfred comfortingly.)

America: (Leans into Arthur, whispering.)  I don't want to be here.

England: (Whispers back, leaning in close to the young angel.)  I know. . . I don't either.

America: (Whimpers.)  I'm so hungry . . .

England: (Reaches up, petting through Alfred's hair. Softly.)  Drink lots of water. It'll have to tide you over until we get more food.

America: He's starving us, Artie.

England: (Leans his head against the bars, whispering.)  I know. . . But he won't let us die. -- _*But, death wouldn't be so bad at this point, would it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, already, they've started to break . . . 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment about what you thought about this chapter! Also, subscribe to the story to see when we update! ^-^


	3. Episode 3: Chipped and Registered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to check out the concurrent episode of As the Feathers Lightly Fall to get the whole story! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> June 5, 2018  
> 1/1

*****The caravan has been traveling several days when they lurch to a stop in a large city.

America: (Sits up, looking around.)  Why did we stop?

Norway: (Uncurls, looking around warily.)

England: (Curls his wings slightly around him, nervous.)  I'm sure we'll find out soon.

Finland: (Frowns, staying silent as they all wait for someone to appear to tell them why they stopped.)

2p!Austria: (Comes in, skipping.)  Now you all need to be nice, _quiet_ , little dovie-poos while I get you into the A.I.R.O. building, alright?

America: 'Arrow'? What?

2p!Austria: An acronym, my dear chicklet. A for Angelic, I for International, R for Registration, and O for Organization. A new development in Hell, invented just in case of caught angel pets.  (Beams, covering the cages and having slaves carry them out and into the building. Brought to a room within, Tino is the first pulled out of his cage and restrained.)

Finland: (Growls, struggling a bit in his restraints.)

Worker 1: (Having put a bit in the angel's mouth, she pets through his hair kindly, keeping her voice soft and soothing.)  The gag is just a precaution, I promise. Now be a good bird for me, okay?

Finland: (Breathes heavily, looking around in panic.)   _*Oh father, help us. What are they going to do?_

Worker 1: Shhhh, shh, it's okay.  (She picks up Tino bridal style, the three other workers walking with her to strap Tino down to a table in the back room, the angel strapped so he’s on his back.)  Joel, hand me the syringe?

Worker 2: (Hands the demoness the syringe, helping with the others.)

Finland: (Whines at the sight of the syringe, scared.)

Worker 1: (Takes the tiny syringe and inserts it into the crook of Tino's elbow.)  There we go, that was just a mild sedative to help you calm down. (She pets through his hair.)  Now we're going to do a little chipping procedure that's pretty painless. You can even close your eyes if you want, alright?

Finland: (Hesitantly nods, calming as the sedative takes effect. He watches them, still not trusting, but calmer now.)

Worker 1: (Taking a laser tool, she hovers it over the angel's sixth rib on the right side, clicking it on so it harmlessly passes through the angel's skin. After a moment, she motions for one of the other workers to move, Joel from before grabbing up what looks like a runic symbol made of silvery tissue paper with tweezers and inserting it into the beam of light. The symbol sinks through Tino's skin before finally imprinting on the bone. When they're finished, is like the procedure never happened.)  There we go, that was easy, right? Pretty painless?

Finland: (Trembles, unsure of everything. What did they just do? _Chipped_ him? He minutely nods, still scared.)

Worker 1: (Soothingly.)  That was just a little chip so we'll always know you're you, and not somebody else. It will help protect you as well, now that you're in the system, so no rando-demon can just up and sell or buy you when they want, okay?

Finland: (Blinks, nodding. Maybe this would be for his benefit after all.)

Worker 1: (She unstraps the angel, then holds a frosted cookie out to him.)  Here, take it. It's rich in nutrients angels need. And we _think_ it tastes good. You'll have to let us know, though.

Finland: (Tentatively takes it, looking up at her. Softly.) _Kiitos._ [Thank you.]  (Takes a tiny bite, surprised to find it taste extremely _good_.)

Worker 1: (Smiles, letting him finish his cookie before gently picking him up and putting back in his cage, then grabbing the bushy-browed angel.)

England: (Snarls, having absolutely _none_ of their bullshit. Even as Tino gestures for him to go, he still flaps his wings at the demons.)

Worker 1: (The buffest of the workers, she easily hauls the grumpy angel into the back and secures him down with minimal helping, humming a soothing melody as she prepares the sedative. She glances at the dirty-blond angel.)  Where would you like me to administer it? Your elbow, or your neck?

England: (Growls lowly, staring at her defiantly as he struggles.)

Worker 1: (Bops him on the nose.)  Quit that and act civilized.

England: (Frowns grumpily, gesturing to his elbow after a moment of silence. She reminds him of his mother, irritatingly enough.)

Worker 1: (Smiles.)  Thank you. (She gives him the sedative, then does the laser procedure, explaining what she's doing the whole time. At the end, she offers him a cookie like she did Tino.)  Here, try this, please? Your friend really seemed to like it. Then, you can tell me what you think afterwards.

England: (Glances from her to the cookie and back again before tentatively taking the cookie and trying it.)  . . . It's good. What's in it?

Worker 1: Nutrients that are supposed to be good for angels. It help build up your immune system against our atmosphere and make it so you have an easier time absorbing the elements of life you do need, like light and love.

England: (Is surprised.)  You sound quite well-educated on angels. I . . wasn't expecting that.

Worker 1: Both of my parents were angel specialists in the old kingdom, and I followed in their footsteps. In fact, I'm the head of the South East's Facility, which is where we are now.

England: (Nods.)  This place is called A.I.R.O., correct?

Worker 1: Yup. Angelic International Registration Organization.

England: Are there many facilities like this in Hell?

Worker 1: There's one in each capital, but there are a few smaller facilities in other cities across Hell.

England: (Nods.)  And their purpose is, I assume, to have an active registration of angels through Hell?

Worker 1: That'd be right. During your chipping, the other demons in the room have also been taking down other key identifiers about you, which will be put in our database so every office across Hell is getting the information we'll have on you five as soon as we finish writing the official report. And that sedative I gave you, there's also another side of the needle that takes a sample of your blood so we have a sample of your DNA and can tell what type of angel you are, your gender, and other things like that.

England: (Nods.)  You're thorough about your records. I appreciate that.  (After a moment.) Do you know where we're going after this?

Worker 1: I believe I heard the slaver say he was heading to the South. There's a large auction house that way that accepts international bidders.

England: (Pales a little.)  Auction house . . ?

Worker 1: (Finishing up with a paper on her clipboard.)  Don't worry, only kings and those a king gives express permission to may own an angel.

England: (Eyebrows furrow.)   _Only_ a king and those given permission? That's all?

Worker 1: (Shrugs.)  What can I say? It's rare to even see an angel nowadays. Much less own one. Anyways, do you want to see what your chip looks like?

England: (Nods.)  Yes, please.

Worker 1: (Takes the scanner, placing it over where it should be on Arthur, then turning it to show the angel the runic figure next to an '02'.)  There it is.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42656527054/in/photostream/)

England: (Looks over the runic figure.)  'A-zero two.' Is the 'A' for my name or something else?

Worker 1: 'Angel'.

England: (Nods.)  Angel number two. The second to enter this system, then. Interesting that we're the only ones.

Worker 1: It is a new system, not the old records we used to have with angels we are unsure are even still  in Hell, or are even alive. (Tacks on.) Archangels will have their own, independent numbering. A stylized runic 'A', an infinity symbol, then whatever number they are. Your friend out there will be number one in the order, of course.

England: (Hums, suddenly wondering about his mother.)  You're unsure about _all_ the angels that were once in Hell?

Worker 1: Most of them. Some we know died or escaped, but others, we haven't the faintest idea.  (Clears her throat.) I need to get back to work, I'm sorry. (She picks up Arthur, putting him back in his cage before he can ask her any more. After that, she takes care of Lukas third, Alfred fourth, and Roderich fifth, the last two needing to be knocked out completely after they fought too much. The angels are left with much to think about the next few days with their first encounter with an organized Hell.)


	4. Episode 4: Ordering a Bird of Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, we know it's a bit of a short one, but it was necessary, I'm afraid! We hope you enjoy it all the same! In the meantime, I've been cranking out more episodes for W-TF (thank GOODNESS) and I'm figuring out the plots of more diverse chapters. (I'm very aware that many of these concurrent episodes don't have a lot more to offer on either side, but the two stories will be diverging in time, so I'm trying to write the transition into the second part of this story. ;) I call this part the prologue.) I'm having fun doing it, so I hope you enjoy the episodes I've written for you guys, later when they're posted! 
> 
> Remember to check out the concurrent episode of As the Feathers Lightly Fall to get the whole story! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> June 7, 2018  
> 1/1

*****A few months later in the South, Sadiq knocks on his majesty's study door before entering.

Turkey: (He bows to Antonio, giving a nod to Lovino who's reading a paper in a nearby chair.)  Your highness, a report has just come in from a South East A.I.R.O. station with the bi-weekly update. Four angels have been caught, as well as one archangel. There's more information in the folder which is, of course, above my clearance to look at.  (Smirks, handing the folder over. Sadiq then backs up, hands behind his back as he waits for further orders.)

Romano: (Eyebrows furrow at the two, curious.)

Spain: (Quirks an eyebrow, taking the folder and opening it up, looking at the files of the four angels then turning to- to the . . archangel. _Roderich_. He looks up at Sadiq, a tiny smile on his lips.)  Gracias for bringing this to me, Captain. Send a message to this slaver, Ryszard, expressing interest for the archangel. I want him here as soon as he can manage.

Turkey: Of course, your majesty. Would you like me to ask for the archangel to be tagged?

Spain: Si. I want him as he is as soon as possible.  (Looks to Lovino, smiling as the demon pads over.)

Turkey: (Bows, leaving to do just that.)

Romano: (Looks over Antonio's shoulder at the file, staring at Roderich's information. He's with a slaver. Softly.)  Fuck. He- he's back.

Spain: (Draws Lovino into his lap, holding the demon close to kiss and comfort him.)  Si. He's coming home. -- _*He's with a slaver, yes, but with my interest, hopefully Ryszard will be a bit more kind to him. Hopefully he'll be alright._

 

* * *

 

 

*In the South West, the captain Monique brings a folder to his majesty, Francis Bonnefoy.

Monaco: Here you are, your majesty. News from the South East that I think you might enjoy.

France: Oh?  (Takes the folder, glad to see a report he might actually enjoy looking at, especially since it was from an A.I.R.O. station in the South East. He opens it to see the profiles of four new angels and an archangel, all recently captured by Ryszard.)  Merci. I'm glad you brought me this.

Monaco: You are welcome, sir.

France: (Nods, starting to look through the profiles.)  Send a message to Ryszard. I'm interested in any images he has of these angels, if he will send them.

Monaco: As you wish, your majesty.  (She goes off, as commanded.)

France: (After she leaves, he quietly reads through each of the detailed profiles, almost _stuck_ on one. It was an angel by the name of Arthur, who- by his description -sounded interesting and almost familiar. He made note of the angel, wanting to look more into him once Ryszard made them available for sale or sent photographs. _Perhaps this angel could be the one for him._ He also takes note of the archangel, knowing exactly who it was and hoping for the best for Roderich and his brother.)

 

* * *

 

 

*In the West, Ludwig scans the reports, nodding to himself. While mildly intrigued, there's only one Ludwig wants, and that being isn't an _angel_.

 

* * *

 

*In the North West, Gilbert cackles when he sees the information on the angels, especially the archangel.

Prussia: Antonio's going to scoop up Roddy, that's for sure. But who else will go after who, I wonder . .

 

* * *

 

 

*To the North, Ivan's eyes flash when the reports come in and he goes through each file several times before looking through two of them. The angel Tino and the other angel, Alfred. One or the other, he's not sure, yet, who he will chose. Looking over at his general, he orders Yao to order Ryszard to send them images of these two angels. Especially Alfred. He's always liked blue eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

*In the North East, Berwald doesn't look at the files for a few days, too busy taking care his kingdom and a revolt to the east. When he finally does, his brow furrows at the amount of times he lingers over Tino's file. When Ryszard came, he would have to see this petite angel, and what exactly he was like. He . . _interested_ Berwald.

 

* * *

 

 

*With Matthias in the East, the demon doesn't get the file until a week or two later, because the post office the files were being transferred through was completely encased during one of the East's brutal ice storms. When Matthias finally got the package of information, he ripped it open, eager to finally read the information.

Denmark: (Smirks, reading through the files, lingering on Tino and Lukas, but _Lukas_ most of all. He sends word to Ryszard, interested in both angel's appearances.)

 

* * *

 

 

*And in the South East, Joao just laughs when he reads each and every file, knowing how this will all end. and he's going to gladly watch from the shadows while his fellow kings each scramble for an angel to claim.


	5. Episode 5: The First Performance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to check out the concurrent episode of As the Feathers Lightly Fall to get the whole story! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> June 12, 2018  
> 1/1

*****A while later of torment, abuse, manipulation, and starvation later. The angels have become little more than skin and bone with blackened bags under their eyes, as well as a weary pallor to their skin. Every day Ryszard trains them, molding them into 'perfect pets', doing a range of activities to them. Some days they're forced to do sexual acts, giving blow jobs, hand jobs, rim jobs, and a range of other sexual actions. Other days they take a beating from Ryszard to 'strengthen' them. There are days when none of them can seem to do anything right, and even breathing wrong can get them severely bruised. Some days, Ryszard ignores them altogether, merely having them sit pretty, the most he does to them is making them walk on their hands and knees like dogs. Little over two months have passed when the caravan comes to a halt, Ryszard skipping down to their cages.

2p!Austria: (Cheerfully.)  Guess _whaaat~?_

Austria: (Looks at Ryszard exhaustedly, barely lifting his head.)

England: (Curled up on the bottom of his cage, he looks at Ryszard, eyelids heavy in his exhaustion.)

Finland: (Doesn't look up, keeping curled up in a corner, but listens.)

Norway: (Holds Tino's hand reassuringly as he leans his back against the cage to look at Ryszard.)

America: (Sits up, stifling a yawn.)

2p!Austria: Well, we're passing by a town and the governor of it _really_ wants to see all of you, and he's paying _such_ a good price to do so, so you'll all be performing at a private event tonight.

England: (Lowers his gaze dejectedly.)   _*Great. We get to be watched and touched by more, horrible demons._

*Most of the angels just quietly sigh.

2p!Austria: (Frowns, humming to himself. Yes, it looks like he'll need to use it. Going upstairs, he digs through a chest, pulling out a bottle. Bringing it back downstairs, Ryszard uncorks it and blows the fine mist inside of it at the angels, smirking at how all of the angels immediately perk up. Bottled _true love_.)  There, are we feeling better?

Austria: (Gasps as he feels his senses become more awake when the cloud settles over him. It's like a refreshing mist after a hot, muggy day.)

England: (Eyes widen in surprise, taking deep breaths that make him feel _alive_ again. Gently.)  W-what is that . . . ?

Norway: That-  (Coughs.)  that was _love_.

2p!Austria: Correct! Bottled true love.

Finland: (Sighs, relaxing for the first time in weeks.)

England: (Blinks, unused to the feeling. His body untenses, everything calming around him.)

America: (Relaxes, soaking the love up like a plant does sunlight.)

Finland: (Opens his eyes, the orbs bright and lively again. He's still afraid of Ryszard, but that feeling . . was _wonderful_. His wings extend out for a moment, stretching the muscles, before settling again.)

2p!Austria: Lovely to see my little flowers are awake again~. You'll be wearing these.  (He throws the skirts and veils at the angels.) Take good care of them, or _else!_  (He giggles, skipping back outside to talk with the governor.)

America: (Puts on his skirt, then grabbing up the blue ribbon supplied to him and crossing it across his chest, as well as the veil.)  . . It's comfortable.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42656848424/in/photostream/)

Austria: Indeed.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42656526984/in/photostream/)

England: (Puts on his own clothes, nodding.)  Surprisingly so.

(The chest ribbon: )

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/29502906258/in/photostream/)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/29502897178/in/photostream/)

Norway: (Nods, reluctantly slipping on the veil and ribbons.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/29502896788/in/photostream/)

Finland: (Doesn't say a word, just putting on the ribbons and veil.)   _*It's better than being practically naked._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/29502896688/in/photostream/)

Austria: (Puts his veil on, leaning backwards while he uses the ribbon that matches the skirt to criss-cross his torso.)  I hope he doesn't decide he's going to rent one of us out for the night.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/28503815597/in/photostream/)

Finland: (Eyes widen at the possibility.)  Do you think he _will?_ Or might?

Austria: I do not know. But I can nearly guarantee that we won't lose our virginity here. That honor only belongs to a king, down here.

Finland: (Is a little relieved, but still wilts, worried.)  Oh.

England: (Wonders for a moment if _any_ king would buy him. It would be a great opportunity to escape, but . . would he be found suitable?)

Austria: . . . They're all decent people, and I consider many of them dear acquaintances.

America: Like who?

Austria: Berwald, for one. While intimidating, he merely has a few . . _issues_ with communication. Otherwise, I consider him to be quite nice and friendly.

Finland: (Listens, looking up at Roderich.)  Tell us about them all? (Softly.) I- I honestly want to know where we could be going after this . . .

Austria: . .  (Nods, applying some makeup as he talks.)  There's Gilbert, he's obnoxious, but not a cruel soul to the people he loves, and there’s also his little brother Ludwig, who is stern and likes to keep to a schedule, though he's a little awkward in casual social situations . . Joao is nice, but very fond of those lower in class than him respecting him, but otherwise, he loves having fun and creating things . . he once made two life-sized metal horses and raced them through the South palace.  (He chuckles.) Francis is a jovial soul who loves romance, but is very serious when ruling and in politics. Mathias is . . interesting, a demon with strong convictions who wishes to get into King Berwald's bed, but wants someone who can understand him.Berwald is a quiet, stern-looking demon, but he’s a kind man beneath his exterior. Then, there is Ivan. Ivan is . . peculiar. He wears many masks and knows far more than he should, and sees far more than he should and is the most dangerous foe one could obtain . . but if he loves you, you are the safest being in Hell, I would wager.

England: (Listens, huffing silently to himself. What an odd group of kings. . . )

Finland: . . .  (Softly.) Do you think we'll be safe with one of them, if we can't leave?

Austria: Yes, if you respect and are open to them.

Norway: If we can't?

Austria: Then you will most likely die. Or worse: they might not buy you.

Finland: . . .  (Nods.) Thank you, Roderich. I appreciate you telling us this.

America: Yeah . . . better than going in blind.

England: (Reluctantly nods, agreeing with that statement.)  Indeed.

Austria: You're welcome- what's that?  (He points to a stack of papers nearest to Alfred and Arthur's cages.)

England: (Quirks an eyebrow, looking over. He goes up to the papers, reaching out as far as he can, only catching the top page to pull to himself. He takes it, reading over the sheet with furrowed brows.)  . . . It's an advertisement for us. (Passes it to the next cage, so the angels can all see it.) No doubt this will spread fast to the kings.

Norway: Obviously. This paper is from half a month ago.

Finland: They probably already know about us. . .

America: (Makes a face.)   _Ehhhhhh_. . .

England: (Quiet.)  Better than being here.

America: (Sighs.)  That's pretty damn true . . . what a fucking awful guy.

England: Be careful when you say that, Alfred. Don't get yourself into trouble.

America: Yeah, yeah, I gotcha . . .

England: (Gently.)  Good. Just hope . . you get lucky.

America: (Nods.)  You too.

England: (Hums in agreement, not really believing it himself. He was the least likely to get lucky out of all of them concerning which king purchased him.)

Austria: Good luck to all of you.  (He shifts when Ryszard comes in with a cage large enough for all of them.)

2p!Austria: (Opens their cages with a snap of his fingers.)  Alrighty, get into the big cage now~. Angels, flagellavita. [whipped.]

Austria: (Winces as he feels the sting of a whip on his back, quickly moving out of cage and into the big one with the others.)

America: (Quietly cries out when it hits him, having not been expecting that.)

Finland: (Makes a quiet noise of pain, following rapidly to avoid more pain.)

England: (Winces, following quietly. Some things didn't make sense to him with this demon, like meaningless punishments like _that_.)

Austria: (Finds a hanging perch to sit on, looking down at the others around him as they all pick their spots while the cage is covered. They all feel the cage be rolled out and across the ground, the light shifting from dark to light to dark again as they're moved to a new building. Once there, Roderich listens as music begins playing and the curtain opens so that the door isn't blocked by the heavy fabric.)  Lukas, you go first. Then Arthur, Tino, and Alfred. I'll follow.

Norway: (Nods, swaying to the music as he goes out, dancing before the masked audience.)

Finland: (Nods, waiting for his turn before following Arthur, the angels all swaying and using the skills that have been beaten into them to get the audience's attention and keep them entertained.)

America: (Takes a deep breath before following suit, taking a look at the demons.)

England: (Takes careful looks at the demons, catching one's eye for a a couple of long moments before looking away. While he wants to kill all the demons around them, he doesn't want to challenge any and prompt punishment.)

Austria: (The last to come out, Roderich steps lightly, moving across the floor. Going with a suggestion Ryszard had made during a previous lesson, the archangel slides into the governor's lap, fixing an aroused expression on his face while the demon gropes him, the angel imagining it’s Antonio.)

Finland: (Glances at Roderich during their little show and gets an idea, dancing along beside some of the higher-level demons in the room. Extending his wings a little from his back, he brushes the tips of his feathers against the demons, giving them sultry looks as he does.)

America: (He dances with Arthur, taking his cue from the others and lets his hands and wings brush the demons watching their performance.)

England: (Brushes up against the demons watching, posturing flirtatiously to lure them more and more.)

Norway: (Finding one of the demons aesthetically pleasing, he dances in front of her for a while before sliding into her lap and letting her touch him.)

*The end of the song comes, the angels receding back into the cage where Ryszard locks them up.

Finland: (Goes to the very back, pulling his wings around himself protectively.)

England: (Stays close to the front of the cage, putting himself between Ryszard and the other angels, even though the door is shut and locked. He's one of the eldest here. That's his job.)

Norway: (He sits by Roderich, the two also putting themselves between the demons and Alfred and Tino.)

America: (Sits on a perch a little higher than the rest, overlooking them all.)

England: (Looks to Roderich and Lukas knowingly, glad they all know the part they play in this. Everything was going to be alright. Maybe. They were strong enough, right?)

Austria: (Seeing something, he dives forward and pulls Arthur away from the edge of the cage and away from the shadow that was reaching for him.)

England: (Eyes widen, staring at the shadow. He had felt something evil, but he couldn't pin it down like usual. Lowly.)  What _is_ that?

Austria: (Murmurs.)  A demonic manipulation. It's not related to the whispers, which I warrant you have heard by now.

England: (Quiet.)  Of course I have. (Looks to Roderich warily.)  These manipulations- what exactly can they all do?

Austria: I'll tell all of you later. When there are no eyes to watch us.

England: (Nods understandingly, looking out at the demons peering in.)

Austria: (Seeing the eyes on them, he encloses Arthur in his wings and arms, giving the angel a simple kiss on the lips, several demons drooling.)

England: (Doesn't know how to respond, so he just stands there, blinking dumbly in his shock that Roderich- is _kissing_ him.)

Austria: (Mildly amused, Roderich presses his lips a little harder against Arthur's before pulling away and going back to his previous perch.)

Norway: (Leans against the archangel, making the two of them look intimate.)

England: (Relaxes, following suit and settling beside Alfred, drawing the young angel closer to make them look just as intimate- despite the fact that they're practically _family_ -and gives the smallest, charming smile when Tino slides up beside the archangel.)

*For the rest of the party, the angels spend their time looking pretty and alluring for the demons that watch them, only relaxing when their cage is taken out of the room. Done performing, they all strip and go back into their usual clothes and curl up tiredly on the floors of their individual cages. When Ryszard finally beds down for the night, Roderich begins speaking.

Austria: (Softly.)  There are four main manipulations in Hell. Metal, fire, shadow, and ice. Metal users are to the East, fire to the South, shadow users to the West, and ice users are to the North. For the between cardinal directions, they usually demonstrate a mixture of the attributes of the two main countries they are between. For example, the South West has a mixture of shadow and fire users.

Finland: (Softly in return.)  So earlier, with Arthur and the shadows? Was a demon trying to _grab_ him?

Austria: Correct. They might have been trying to get a souvenir, of sorts.

England: (Shivers, speaking quietly.)  We're not even safe in a _cage_ from those monsters. They can just slip through the shadows.

Austria: Only so much of their manipulation is allowed in. That was a demon essentially sticking their 'hand' through the bars, because that is the only thing that could fit, what with the spelling.

America: Well . . that's better nothing.

England: (Looks away.)  That's . . disturbing, nonetheless.

Norway: (Hums, petting through Tino's hair.)  We'll be alright.

Austria: Ryszard won't allow anyone to harm us.

Finland: (Leans into Lukas, usure.)  I don't know, Roderich . . .

Austria: (Amends.)  At least, nothing permanent and not without someone paying him.

England: (Quiet.)  I wonder if we _will_ be rented out . . .

Austria: I do not think so. Ryszard's already asleep and we're leaving tomorrow.

England: (Huffs.)  Maybe not here, but along our journey to the South?  (Shakes his head.)

America: I really fucking don't want to be rented out . .

Finland: Neither do I. . .  (Huddles, frightened.)

Norway: (Soothes.)  Everything shall be alright. I have faith in Roderich's words of the kings. Not that I will not try to escape from whoever it is then, but I trust Roderich when he says they aren't as evil as Ryszard.

Finland: (Shivers.)  I'm sorry, Roderich, I just . . . I don't know . . .

Austria: (Nods when he catches Tino's eye.)  I understand.

Finland: (Nods, glad Roderich does.)

England: (Sighs, not sure what to think about any of it.)

Austria: I suggest we get some rest while we can.  (He folds his wings around himself.) Goodnight, everyone.

America: (Curls up on the side of the cage closest to Arthur, huddled on his side as he sleeps.)

Finland: (Curls up near Lukas, uneasily falling asleep.)

England: (Stays at Alfred's side, petting through his hair. Softly.)  Good night.

 


	6. Episode 6: A Crash Course in Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains very detailed and explicit descriptions of a sexual assault/rape. I know that there have been other scenes of sexual assault before (Ryszard’s “training”, mainly), but this is much more serious. **By posting this chapter I am in no way condoning such behavior and instead condone it. _@MEN AND WOMEN: CONSENT IS KEY. EXPLICIT, ENTHUSIASTIC CONSENT IS SEX. NO CONSENT IS RAPE. PARTIAL CONSENT IS RAPE. ALL CONSENT OR NOTHING. KNOW THE DIFFERENCE._** If you have been sexually assaulted, please tell someone you trust. For Americans, this is the Sexual Assault Hotline ( 1-800-656-4673 ), and below are more numbers that may be of use to you if you do or do not live in the USA. You are not alone. I love you and please, if you will be triggered by this, go with caution. I will put bolded ** at the start and end of that scene if you wish to avoid it.
> 
> There is also several Ryszard “training” scenes, if you feel you need to be aware.
> 
> Let me know if these trigger warnings are helpful! Seriously, guests and registered users both, let me know!!
> 
> Resources: https://www.rainn.org/national-resources-sexual-assault-survivors-and-their-loved-ones
> 
> International Hotlines List: http://togetherweare-strong.tumblr.com/helpline
> 
> \------  
> Remember to check out the concurrent episode of As the Feathers Lightly Fall to get the whole story! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> June 14, 2018  
> 1/1

*****Another two weeks of traveling later, and suddenly everything _lurches_ to a halt, Ryszard racing downstairs. On his way out the door, he commands.

2p!Austria: Be _good_ and stay _quiet_ , little dovies. A cat has come to claw at your cages~.  (He then goes out the front door of his caravan, the door crisply shutting behind him.)

Austria: (Sits upright, alarmed.)

Finland: (Having been sleeping, he wakes, looking at the others.)  What's happened?

Austria: Someone is here, I'm assuming someone powerful and highly dangerous.

England: And not a _king_ , I presume. . .

Austria: I do not think so.

Finland: (Shakes, suddenly _very_ frightened.)  Oh no . . .

Norway: (Holds Tino.)  Breath, Tino. We shall get through this.

Finland: (Burrows himself into Lukas' hold, nodding silently as he focuses on breathing.)

America: A-Artie, what's going to happen to us?

England: (Wraps a wing around Alfred comfortingly. Gently.)  It's alright. . . We're going to be safe, Alfred. Remember to have faith.

America: (Nods, scooting closer to the older angel.)

2p!Austria: (Comes in, throwing clothes at them.)  Put these on quickly, you have five minutes.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/28503815167/in/photostream/)

*The angels each put on their respective colors, Alfred into the bright blue maid dress, Arthur changing into the green dress, Tino into the pink one, Lukas the black one, and Roderich into the purple maid dress.

2p!Austria: (Hisses at them as a slave takes and hides away their other outfits.)  You are to come out the _moment_ your cage is opened.

*The angels all nod in understanding, each then backing up on instinct the instant the door to the caravan opens, the evil aura seeping like a fog into the room. In the doorway looms a demon far unlike any other they had seen before. Rough, calloused, and something so intimately _animalistic_ hangs onto the demon like a cloak. Massive in size, he dwarfs Ryszard's slim, pale frame easily. His tired gray eyes with large, dark rings under them gazed upon the angels like a thousand pounds pushing them downwards. Ashy blonde hair framed his face limply, smoke from his cigarette that lazily hung from his lips cutting across a portion of his face.)

Austria: (Roderich moves backwards, sensing something about this demon is much different from other demons. This demon is older and far more dangerous.)

Finland: (Seeing Roderich back off, his wings start minutely trembling in fear, keeping his eyes down.)

2p!Austria: (Gestures to his guest.)  Why don't you sit down, my lord, and we'll have some wine and tea?

2p!France: (Grunts, sitting down at the table indicated.)

2p!Austria: Is there a dove you would like as a server?  (He gestures to the angels loosely.)

2p!France: (His eyes scan down the line of angels before pointing to the cage with the angel in the green dress is sitting in, as well as the one in the blue maid dress.)

2p!Austria: (Snaps his fingers, the cages unlocking.)  Little dovies, go get us some tea, wine, and treats?

America: (Hurries out, going through a door to a small kitchenette and grabbing out wine glasses and a bottle of red and white wine each. A slave has already begun brewing tea and made snacks, setting some on a platter.)  I've got the wine, you carry the tea and snacks?

England: (Silently nods, taking the tea platter with the snacks, bringing them to the table and setting it up for the two. Unsure if this . . _beast_ wants tea, he gently asks, demure in every way.)  Sir, would you like any tea?

2p!France: (Looks at the 'dove', considering it. After a moment, he nods.)

England: (Gently nods, carefully pouring the other a cup when it's prepared.)  Any sugar or cream, sir?

2p!France: (Blows smoke at Arthur's face, shaking his head before drinking some wine and tea.)

America: (Done serving, he stands behind Ryszard with his head bowed.)

England: (Holds his breath to not breathe in the smoke and go into a coughing fit beside the large demon, serving up Ryszard as well before going to stand behind the slaver, his own head bowed.)

2p!France: (After a small while of listening to Ryszard babble, he points to Tino's cage.)

2p!Austria: (With barely a break in the conversation, Ryszard snaps his fingers, opening the cage.)

Finland: (Takes a deep breath, lightly padding out, his head bowed before the two.)

2p!France: (Gestures for Tino to stand before him.)

Finland: (Comes forward, stilling most of his trembling as he stands in front of the demon.)

2p!France: (Grabs Tino by the chin, turning his face from side to side to inspect it.)

Finland: (Lets himself go limp and pliable under the other's inspection, keeping his eyes down.)

2p!France: (Drops his hand, gesturing the little angel away.)

Finland: (Steps back, looking to Ryszard. He's not sure if he should join the other two standing behind the slaver or not.)

2p!Austria: (Gestures for Tino to go back to his cage with his eyes, then going back to sipping his tea.)

Finland: (Pads back into his cage, taking deliberately slow and calm breaths.)

2p!France: (Crooks his finger at Alfred.)

America: (Comes forward, allowing the demon to inspect him.)

2p!France: (Gestures for him to go back to where he was standing.)

England: (Is glad when Alfred returns beside him, safe for the time being.)

America: (Silently sighs in relief the moment his back is turned to the demon, gladly standing by Arthur.)

2p!France: (Lastly, he gestures Arthur towards him.)

England: (Keeps his eyes down demurely as taught, approaching the demon and allowing himself to be inspected.)

******

2p!France: (Curious at the scent, he pulls Arthur closer to himself. Nodding, he pulls the angel into his lap, lightly running his nose up and down the side of his neck.)

England: (Focuses on breathing, gently leaning into the demon. He can feel everything sliding out of control downhill, unable to do anything about it without going further faster.)

2p!Austria: (Tuts.)  Remember, Francois. To play, first you must _pay_.

2p!France: (Grunts.)  How much to fuck 'im?

England: (Heart begins to race, _praying_ that Ryszard doesn't allow that.)

2p!Austria: (Hums, amused.)  Come now, you know the law. You can't fuck his holes, you know that.  (Leans his face in his palm.)

England: (Silently sighs, relaxing into this demon's hold a bit more so he's not as tense and obviously frightened.)

2p!France: There are thighs. I'll pay fifty thousand obis.

2p!Austria: (Thinks it over. When Francois’ expression goes dark, he _very quickly_ makes up his mind.)  . . . Deal~!

England: _*Father, help me. This can't be happening to me. Please, this cannot be HAPPENING._  (Focuses on breathing, on the edge of hyperventilating.)

2p!Austria: (Gestures for Alfred to go back to his cage, the angel worriedly doing so. To Arthur.)  Come, dovie. I need to put you in something to make sure to make sure you aren't too horribly arousing.  (He holds out his hand to Arthur.)

England: (Easily takes the hand, gently rising from the other's lap as he follows Ryszard.)

2p!France: (Stays where he is.)

2p!Austria: (Drags Arthur to another room.)  Strip.

England: (Gets out of the dress, stripping as ordered. He's too scared to fight. All his hope just fell out of bottom of his soul, knowing he's completely and utterly fucked. Perhaps even literally, if Francois decides to break the law.)

2p!Austria: Close your eyes~. I want it to be a surprise.

England: (Closes his eyes, concerned about this _surprise_.)

2p!Austria: (Grabs the stuff, putting it on Arthur.)  Alrighty, open your eyes~!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/43373443571/in/photostream/)

England: (Could already feel the article as he was being dressed in it, opening his eyes to the extent of it. He nods, not commenting on the piece. He looks up at Ryszard, gently asking.)  Should I know anything before I go with him, sir?

2p!Austria: Don't fight him, he might break you- on _accident_.

England: (Nods, having figured that.)  Anything else?

2p!Austria: Hm . . nope~! Enjoy your chastity outfit!  (Ushers Arthur back out into the main room.)

England: _*For the first time, I most certainly_ **_will_ ** _, if only to keep him_ **_out_ ** _._  (Follows, sidling up alongside Francois, his hands gently stroking over the other's shoulders, putting on a show.)

2p!France: (Moves, grabbing Arthur's wrists and lunging forward to pin the angel to the table, the angel's hands over his head.)

England: (Gasps, looking up at the demon. His gaze is sultry, luring the demon in as he was taught, his form posturing just so, purring a bit, despite his fear of everything happening. And that's ignoring the fact that the others were there too.)

2p!France: (A ghost of a grin appears on his face, the demon bending forward to claim the angel's lips.)

England: (Closes his eyes, returning the kiss fervently, in his mind kissing someone more handsome. Someone kinder. An angel that would be with him somewhere that's _not Hell_.)

2p!France: (When he finishes the kiss, he pulls back to look at Ryszard, gruffly speaking.)  Five hundred.

2p!Austria: (Nods, understanding.)  I'll go get the syringe.

2p!France: (Heaves Arthur over his shoulder, carrying the angel up to a room.)

England: (His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not sure what just happened. Syringe for what? He clings to Francois' shoulder as he's carried, looking back desperately at the other angels, scared.)

*They all share his scared look.

2p!France: (Sits in a chair, Arthur in his lap, the angel's back to his chest. Seated directly on top of Francois' arousal, the demon slowly rubs his bulge against Arthur's ass.)

England: _*No, no, no, no, no-_ (He breathes and lets his mind shift to his invented lover, shifting his hips back against the movement, toying a little with him a bit.)

2p!Austria: (Comes in with a small syringe.)  Dovie, arm out.

England: (Looks up at him, his eyes tinged with worry, and extends the arm, wincing at the prick as it's administered to him. He doesn't feel anything at first, until everything starts to get _hot._ **_Really_ ** hot _._ )

2p!France: (Continues grinding against Arthur, then uses one hand to rub teasing circles on his thighs.)

England: (Gasps at the touch, feeling extra sensitive to _everything_. His head falls back, a hand reaching up to card through the demon's hair as he pushes back against him, creating more friction between them.)

2p!France: (Smirks, pressing his hand firmly onto the metal that's directly over Arthur's cock.)

England: (Cries out, lightly gripping the other's hair and hip, and bucks into the demon's hand, wanting **more**.)

2p!France: (With one hand, he pulls the side table next to his chair in front of them, then leaning forward until Arthur is bent forwards over the table. Pulling back for a moment, Francois undoes the ties at the crotch of his pants, allowing his thick and heavy cock out of its confines. Slipping himself between Arthur's legs, he's thankful for the chains that prevent the angel from spreading his legs very far as he begins thrusting in and out, smearing his precum on Arthur's thighs.)

England: (Is surprised at how utterly massive Francois is, just because he's _huge_ , before rocking back against thrusts, whimpering at the teasing sensation, wanting so much more, yet being simultaneously repulsed by the being on top of him. Part of his body wants to be dominated and bred long into the night, but the other half just wants to sob in pain at . . _everything_ . But he doesn't cry, he _moans_ , the thick haze in his mind preventing real, intelligent thought to come out any longer.)

2p!France: (Fucking Arthur's thighs, he imagines that he's pounding into the angel's hole, completely dominating the feathered being. He fucks the angel for a long time, cumming several times, but with Arthur being locked in the belt . . he hasn't been able to cum _once_.)

England: (Cries out, moaning and pleading desperately in his overstimulation.)  Please, _please-_ sir- _master_ -please _touch me._ I- _a-ahhhh_ . . . -I _need_ it, sir, **_please_ **.

2p!France: (Tries to slip his hand under the metal, unable to.)  I cannot.

England: (His wings splay submissively, everything in his body just wanting to be _fucked_ as he whimpers.)   _P-please_. . .

2p!France: (Leans forward, growling in Arthur's ear.)  Is that _really_ what you want? For me to tear this metal with my bare hands and fuck your ass while your tiny cock is caught between yourself and the edge of the table?

England: (The other's tone sobers him up a bit, shrinking away in fear. As another wave of the aphrodisiacs hits him, he cries out, his whole body trembling and rubbing against the other's.)

2p!France: (Stands, throwing Arthur to the side.)  That is what I thought. (He puts himself away as he walks out the door, leaving. Having already paid Ryszard, he just leaves without a word.)

England: (Slumps down, his body trembling as he cries, everything burning with need and with _shame_.)

2p!Austria: (He comes in after twenty minutes, humming. Undoing the underwear part of Arthur's outfit, he carries the angel over and situates him on a sybian-style machine, turning it on so it vibrates.)  You have five minutes to cum or _you won't get to._

England: (Moans, finally feeling _pleasured_. It doesn't take him five minutes before he cums, his whole body slumping in exhaustion.)

******

2p!Austria: (Picks up Arthur, locking him back up in the underwear.)  There we go. And guess what? All your little friends are wearing the same little outfit you are now~.

England: (Blinks tiredly, barely registering those words. He's almost completely out of it, his mind still fuzzy.)

2p!Austria: (Coos.)  So cute and fuzzy-minded~. You didn't even notice what I did to you.

England: (Pulls his wings around himself more as his head begins to swim, uneasy and feeling . . so _disgusted_ by his actions.)

2p!Austria: If you feel any vibrations, don't be surprised~.

England: (Blinks, realizing tiredly.)  D-did you put something _in_ me?

2p!Austria: (Chimes.)   _In_ that cute little hole and _on_ that adorable little penis and your nipples, of course. Just like your feathery friends.

England: (Eyes widen.)  W-what? No . . . Please leave them alone. _Please_. I don't care what you do to me. Let them relax today. . .

2p!Austria: (His eyes narrow and he drops Arthur, only to grab him by the hair and easily drag the angel back to his cage.)  My, you lot are feather-brained . . . _you do not order me. You only do what is asked of_ **_you_ ** _._  (He throws Arthur back into the cage, then leaving. Done with the angels for today, the slaver turns every single vibrator on, then leaving them.)

Austria: (Moans, trying to grind against anything, only to be denied.)

America: (Mewls, squirming on the floor at the sensations.)

Norway: (Heavily flushed, Lukas lightly pants in his corner of the cage.)

England: (Gasps, curling up to almost hide from the sensations. He pulls on his chains at his legs and hips, trying to get _any_ relief, only to be mostly denied.)

Finland: (Moans in his own corner, desperately trembling on the floor.)

*The angels spend the next two days under this constant torment, though Ryszard still doesn't allow them release. The slaver just turns off the vibrations.

 

* * *

 

 

*Five weeks later. Ryszard circles the angel that's bound upright with only one foot on the floor to balance on, the demon pausing in front of him, tweaking the tip of Arthur's cock.

England: (Bites back a whimper, a quiet groan slipping out.)

2p!Austria: (Purrs happily.)  Such a good little slave . . you'll be a wonderful little pet to fuck, I'm sure~.

England: (Scowls, looking away and silently seething.)

2p!Austria: (Chuckles.)  Come now, you still have all your limbs.

England: (Huffs.)  Why _wouldn't_ I?

2p!Austria: (Coos.)  How adorably naïve . . but then again, you wouldn't know, would you?  (He strokes the angel's arms and legs.) When it comes to pleasure slaves, all a demon needs is a hole.  (He uses a finger to lift Arthur's chin.) No limbs are required then, aren't they. (He raises an eyebrow.)  I can even show you, if you want.

England: (Shrinks away, his legs trembling a bit as he holds himself up.)  N-no. . . You really don't have to.

2p!Austria: (Grins.)  But I insist. (He snaps his fingers, a slave leaving before bringing in another slave, completely limbless, but still very beautiful. Ryszard continues on in a bright tone.)  It's amazing the kinks down here, and how prized a pretty face is. _Don't you_ **_agree?_ **

England: (Gazes over the slave's beautiful yet mutilated form before looking down, Ryszard's tone making his shrink more in fear.)  Y-yes, sir . . .

2p!Austria: (He strokes a hand down Arthur's cheek.)  And sometimes, all of the teeth are pulled out- can't have the property biting, now can they?  (Giggles.) But an interesting fact about us demons, is that we're like sharks. Every tooth pulled will just grow back.  (He grins.) How do you think we stop that?

England: (Flinches slightly at the hand, silent.)

2p!Austria: (Frowns, squeezing the angel's cheeks.)  Answer, little cunt.

England: (Winces.)  I- I don't know, sir. Medicine? More . . physical means?

2p!Austria: (Smiles maliciously.)  We cauterize the gums with fire, sealing them so the teeth can't grow back. I've even met some who use a red-hot metal dildo to do the job.

England: (Trembles. _He was going to die here_ . No. He _wished_ he would just die here and not suffer anymore. Dying was better than slavery. Better than _torture_.)

2p!Austria: (Kisses Arthur's cheek in a mocking display of affection.)  But for the most part, we keep slaves whole, they need to be able to move from one job to the next, after all.

England: Y-yes. . .  (Doesn't look up, just trying not to cry.)

2p!Austria: Then we have these little hole in the ground places where we put little pleasure slaves in boxes where only their cute little tooshes and mouths are on display, so they can be used.

England: (Huffs, the tiniest, bitter smile gracing his lips.)  At least that won't be us. (Looks up at Ryszard with an air of disobedience, his eyes tired and dull.)  The law here states that only a _king_ may currently purchase or fuck the holes of an angel. Breaking the law would ruin your reputation, something you value _greatly_. Am I correct?

2p!Austria: (Smirks, a hand going down to tease Arthur's hole.)  Very true, little pigeon. But that doesn't mean I still can't make you _suffer_.

England: (Stiffens, smirking back weakly.)  Sounds like nothing new. _Go right ahead, you son of a bitch_.

2p!Austria: (His eyes go flat, and Ryszard pulls away, slapping the angel. The slaver then kicks the angel's one supporting leg out from under him so the angel is yanked painfully by the ropes and he's half throttled while Ryszard goes and gets something.)

England: (Cries out in pain, trying to shift his weight so it isn't so straining.)

2p!Austria: (Comes over with a spiked paddle, whipping the angel's ass with it.)

England: (Flinches at every hit, crying out, his voice beginning to sound strained as he starts to actually cry, his body shaking at the abuse.)

2p!Austria: (When he’s done, the angel is bleeding, the demon then adding an anal hook to the set up keeping Arthur tied, the end firmly pressed into the angel's prostate.)  Cum before you're let to, and I'll but something much larger in that ass of yours, understood?

England: (Whimpers, nodding.)  Y-yes. . .

2p!Austria: (Smiles, taking paperwork as he leaves Arthur hanging for hours.)

England: (Tries not to do too much that would agitate him or accidentally pleasure himself, groaning in pain and pleasure as he minutely shifts the hook inside him. It takes a long time, him thinking of disgusting turn offs the whole time, but he eventually cums weakly, whimpering.)

2p!Austria: (Smirks, the ropes coming down from the ceiling to drag the angel over to a chair, the hook coming out as the angel is speared onto a much thicker, vibrating dildo, and a ring is slipped around his cock. The ropes tie Arthur down to the chair, keeping him immobile.)  Enjoy, little angel.

England: (Cries out, screeching.)   **_No!!!_ **  (Thrashes, whining in pain and _pleasure_ , but so much _pain_.)

2p!Austria: (Amused.)  You'll be staying in that for the next day or two; possibly more.

England: (Screeches, inwardly repeating his mantra. ‘ _I've endured worse. I'm fine. I've endured worse . . ._ ’)

2p!Austria: Careful, little angel. If you keep struggling, you _will_ tear.

England: (Hisses at the demon, straining against the ropes.)

2p!Austria: (Sniffs, smirking.)  I smell blood already . . shall I lick it up?

England: (Snarls.)   _Touch me with any of your disgusting appendages and I'll_ **_rip them fucking off!_ **

2p!Austria: (Smirks darkly, coming over and having the ropes force the angel's legs even further apart so Ryszard can kneel between them. Lifting the angel's cock with a hand, his long serpentine tongue sweeps around Arthur's balls and where he can reach of his hole, purring when the taste of blood hits his tongue.)

England: (Growls, wrenching away only to hiss in pain, stilling as he feels himself tear more. Darkly.)  G- get the fuck _off_ me. . .

2p!Austria: ( _Ignores_.)

England: (Strains against the ropes on his legs, trying to close them with great difficulty.)   _Please!_ Just leave me alone to struggle and bleed!

2p!Austria: (He continues what he's doing, but one hand goes up and slowly starts choking the angel.)   _You don't tell_ **_me_ ** _what to do,_ **_slave_ **.

England: (Wheezes, desperately gasping for air.)  N-no . . .

2p!Austria: Don't tempt me, little angel. I can cut off all those pretty limbs of yours, save for your wings, and it would be all too easy to explain _why_ your body is so broken when I sell it to a king.

England: (Whimpers, his body trembling in fear and pain.)

2p!Austria: Good boy.  (Pulls away.) I'll let you think on that, hmm?

England: (Gasps, looking down as he nods.)  Y-yes sir. . .

2p!Austria: (Coos.)  Good slut. I'll be back later.  (Leaves.)

England: (Whimpers, hating everything about this and how much pain he's in. (Though he especially hates the feeling of blood dripping down his leg.))


	7. Episode 7: More Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to check out the concurrent episode of As the Feathers Lightly Fall to get the whole story! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> June 19, 2018  
> 1/1

**** *Ryszard pulls Arthur off of the toy two days later.

England: (Exhausted, his body just falls limply to the ground, the angel groaning.)

2p!Austria: (Leaves Arthur on the floor, using his body as a footrest as he reads and drinks his tea.)

England: (Pants, lying there without a word, just trying to breathe and rest.)

2p!Austria: (Gently presses down on Arthur's cock with his foot.)

England: (Whines, his wings coming closer to protect himself.)

2p!Austria: (Musingly.)  I wonder . . .

England: (Weakly looks up at him.)

2p!Austria: What you would be like as a little  _ girlie _ .

England: (Whimpers, his wings coming closer.)

2p!Austria: (Begins chanting, his fingers wiggling as Arthur is slowly transformed to female.)

England: (Murmurs desperate 'no's, barely even audible to himself, as he feels his body change, becoming even  _ smaller  _ and weaker. When Ryszard stops chanting, he slumps, passing out from exhaustion.)

2p!Austria: (Locks Arthur up in an empty slave room, the angel sleeping for two days before waking up.)

England: (When he wakes up, his whole body is sore and stiff, making it difficult as he sits up and wipes a hand over his face. Catching sight of the hand- much more dainty and thin -he remembers exactly  _ what  _ happened when he was last awake. He was  _ female _ . His- now  _ her  _ -hands go to her chest, covering her new breasts that were out in the open, not covered at all by the ribbons crossing her chest. She scowls, feeling even  _ more  _ exposed in a female body.)

2p!Austria: (Comes in, cooing.)  Hello  _ cutie _ . You're even more adorable now, what with that pouty little lip of yours.

Fem!England: (Her voice a bit higher than usual, she scrambles back and snaps at him.)  How dare you! If you're going to just come in here and do whatever you want, at least give me a sash to cover my breasts! It's utterly indecent of you.  (Scowls, it looking closer to a pout in this form.)

2p!Austria: (Giggles, throwing a sash at him, or 'her'.)

Fem!England: (Takes the sash, her wings coming up to hide herself as she wraps the sash around her, admittedly, rather nice breasts, hiding them from the view of  _ perverts _ . She lowers her wings, frowning at the demon.)  Was there really a point to doing this?

2p!Austria: I was curious as to what you looked like. Plus, teasing you with pleasure and pain is going to  _ different  _ now that you're like  _ this _ .

Fem!England: (Shrinks, her tiny form trembling in fear. She doesn't want to be tortured in this form.  _ Especially  _ not this form. It was sensitive and weak and less tolerant of pain.)

2p!Austria: (Giggles.)  Cute.

Fem!England: (Pulls her legs to her chest, hiding her face.)   _ *Please, just leave me alone . . . _

2p!Austria: (Pets through her hair, pulling her up onto his lap and cuddling her.)  Cuuuuuttte.

Fem!England: (Trembles in the other's arms, just afraid of the demon.)

2p!Austria: (Teasingly fingers her clit and labia, being gentle and teasing about it.)

Fem!England: (Whimpers, hating how good it feels despite the violating feeling to her body.)

2p!Austria: Hmm . . I wonder if it's against the law to have breed a hole you don't normally have . . .  (He muses aloud.)

Fem!England: (Eyes widen, her hands pressing against his chest, looking up at the demon as she speaks quickly and pleadingly.)  N-no, please. . . You don't understand about angels, you can't. It  _ would  _ be against the law if you did. I don't-  (Silences herself, trembling fearfully.)

2p!Austria: (Raises an eyebrow, then kisses her on a whim, pulling back seconds later.)

Fem!England: (Blinks in surprise, though she really isn't  _ that  _ surprised, fingertips covering her lips a tiny bit.)

2p!Austria: . . .  (Squees at the cuteness.)

Fem!England: (Blinks again, just sitting there, not sure what she should do, if anything.)

2p!Austria: (Plops her back on the floor.)  Be good~! (Leaves.)

Fem!England: (Slips into the corner, pulling her wings around herself.  _ Now what? _ )

* * *

 

 

*Ryszard comes back the next day.

2p!Austria: Hello~.

Fem!England: (Looks up at him tiredly, her voice soft.)  Hello, sir.

2p!Austria: (His hand already lubed up, he fingers her gently as the other hand offers her an apple.)  Eat this.

Fem!England: (Softly whimpers, taking the apple and eating, trying not to focus on the fingers in her hole and how horrifying, yet gentle and somewhat nice, it feels.)  T-thank you.

2p!Austria: You're welcome, little dove.  (With his fingers, he hits  _ that  _ spot within her.)

Fem!England: (Gasps, her eyes sinking shut as she moans, melting in pleasure as she just starts to forget where she is and what's happening. Maybe she can enjoy it for a change without feeling so violated?)

2p!Austria: (Especially starts teasing her clit.)

Fem!England: (Covers her mouth, trying to muffle her moans as she sets down the half-eaten apple.)

2p!Austria: (Purrs in her ear.)  Come now, come now, you really should finish your food.

England: (Whimpers, taking back the apple to shakily eat her food, just trying to finish it so she doesn't have to worry about it anymore.)

2p!Austria: (Lets up on her for a few moments so she doesn't choke, the demon burning away the core into nothingness when the angel finishes. Then he's back to pleasuring her full-force.)  Cum before I say you can and you'll be punished.

Fem!England: (Moans, nodding.)  Yes- yes sir. . . (Her trembling wings support her, keeping her from falling as she's pleasured.)

2p!Austria: (Plays dirty, getting the angel to cum when he worries her nipples with his teeth.)

Fem!England: (Cries out as she cums, his wings and arms trembling as she holds herself up. She pants, looking at Ryszard with a low, sultry expression, hoping to stay on his good side. Gently.)  That wasn't fair, sir. . .

2p!Austria: No, it wasn't, but . .  _ demon! _  (Cackles, picking her up and carrying her over to a little contraption he had set up while he and the angel were playing. A wooden pony torture device, he sets the angel on it.)  You know, this has always been one of my favorite toys to use with females. You squeeze it tightly with your thighs to try and keep the pressure off your poor little clit, but it's inevitable that they give out, sooner or later, putting all of your weight on your little crotch.  (He smirks, tying the angel's wrists behind her back and over her wings to keep everything pinned.)

Fem!England: (Huffs, frowning as her legs already start to tremble, her squeezing her thighs together desperately. Mutters.)  And here I was going to treat you without asking if you were  _ nice  _ to me . . .

2p!Austria: (Laughs.)  Silly angel.

Fem!England: (Indignantly lifts her chin, pouting.)

2p!Austria: (Goes down, attaching a spreader bar to the angel's ankles so she can't try to use her feet to lift herself up.)

Fem!England: (Without the support from her feet, her legs tremble more violently.)  N- no . . . (Squeezes more, trying so hard to keep herself up.)

2p!Austria: (Smirks, grabbing a little vibrating wand and pushing it hard against her clit before jerking it away.)

Fem!England: (Gasps, her legs giving in just enough for her to slide down, crying out in pain as she tries to reposition herself.)

2p!Austria: (Before she can, Ryszard places his foot on the spreader bar, keeping her down and adding some delicious- in his mind, at least -pressure.)

Fem!England: (Cries out more, her arms and wings straining, just wanting to relieve the pressure from her clit.)  S-sir, p-  _ please! _

2p!Austria: (Gives it another five seconds before removing his foot.)

Fem!England: (Gasps, moving with great difficult to shift off, desperate. Her chest heaves, breathing heavily.)

2p!Austria: (Narrows his eyes, humming.)  You're wiggling around on that far too much.  (He snaps his fingers, a slave coming forward and lifting the angel up about six inches while Ryszard digs in a chest. To himself.)  Which one, which one . . .

England: (Sighs, glad to not be resting on her clit any longer, feeling relief.)

2p!Austria: (Digs out a dildo, strapping it to the pony before letting the slave drop Arthur back down onto it gently.)

Fem!England: (Moans as she sinks down on it, her legs tightening before reaching the wood to not cause herself pain.)

2p!Austria: (Smacks Arthur across the face, forcing the angel to sink all of the way down before he smirks evilly.)  If you won't stay down, I'll weigh you down. (With those words, he adds five pounds of weight to both sides of the ankle-cuffs on Arthur.)

Fem!England: (Whimpers as she sinks down, pained noises escaping her.)  N-no! I'm sorry! Please . . . !

2p!Austria: (Watches in arousal, the demon sitting down and slowly beginning to stroke himself at the sight of her.)

Fem!England: (Glances over, only to look away again, not wanting to see the demon in such a state. She moans, but not in pleasure this time. Yes, there are some pleasure elements, but it just feels like  _ torture  _ to her now.)

2p!Austria: (Giggles, continuing to stroke himself off.)

Fem!England: (Struggles, moaning as she moves on the dlido.)

2p!Austria: (Purrs out.)  Make it a good show, whether you act weak and desperate, or seductive and needy, and I'll let you off earlier than I was going to.

Fem!England: (Glances over, eyelids low as she moans, continuing to move on the dildo, trying to be needy and seductive.)

2p!Austria: (Laughs.)  You can do better than that. Be natural, sweetheart.

Fem!England: (Yells briefly in frustration, it turning into a whimper. She's not seductive. She doesn't know how to be. She's never needed to know how. (Yet, in her frustration as she whimpers, pants, and moans, she's unintentionally relaxed into much more of a needy and slightly seductive figure.))

2p!Austria: (Approvingly.)  Better. On the horse, all you have to do is react to your situation. The pain to your poor little clit, how the dildo nudges inside of you and penetrates deep within you. How your legs ache from holding yourself up, and now the weights. If you move, make it movement trying to help yourself- but you will, of course, fail every time, causing more sensations of pain and pleasure to yourself.

Fem!England: (Glances over, listening to the advice and committing it to memory. (Demons were disgusting, sadistic creatures, so the information could come in handy one day.) Applying the advice, she focuses on herself and what she feels, reacting accordingly as she tries to lift herself up, not doing a great job as she slides back down again, moaning from the combined sensations as she does her best.)

2p!Austria: (Moans at the angel's struggles, jerking himself off faster before cumming in his hand. Done, he walks out, leaving Arthur because he's a sadistic fuck.)

Fem!England: (Growls slightly as he just fucking  _ leaves _ , just trying to hold herself up in the meantime.)

*Ryszard is gone for two hours.

Fem!England: (Is just an unhappy, panting, moaning mess when Ryszard comes back, her body trembling.)

2p!Austria: (Undoes everything, picking the angel up and holding her bridal-style in his arms. Quietly he turns her back into a him again, the demon placing an unconscious Arthur back in his cage with the others.)

England: (Wakes several hours later, blearily looking around at the other angels, his body sore as he gently shifts.)

*The rest of the angels are still asleep, as it is nighttime.

England: (Feels his chest, glad that he's back to being a male in all respects. He quietly moves closer to the others, curling up nearby them as he rests, taking advantage of it.)

Austria: (Yawns, stretching a wing over Arthur to include him.)

England: (Shifts closer to them, especially Roderich, and huddles down to drift back off.)

 

* * *

 

 

*Another two weeks goes by when Roderich starts trembling and finds himself unable to stop. The archangel is sick.

Austria: (Coughs, his whole body shaking from the effort. As it’s nighttime, Ryszard isn't there to witness this. Roderich murmurs desperately.)   _ Antonio . . . Tonio . . . Anton . . . Antonio . . . Toni . . Tonio, I need you, please . . . please, please meine lieb . . bitte . . . _  (Roderich lightly sobs in pain.)

England: (Wakes in the night at the quiet sobs, shifting closer to the archangel. He murmurs softly to him, lifting the heavy cloth enough to look into Roderich's cage.)  Roderich?

Austria: (Stops sniffling.)  A-Arthur?

England: (Softly.)  Come closer, dear. It doesn't do well to be suffering all alone like that.  (Reaches a wing into the cage a small bit, simultaneously asking for permission and inviting the archangel closer.)

Austria: (Crawls closer, wincing at the pain. He leans against the side of the cage closest to Arthur.)   _ Danke . . . danke . . danke . . .    _ (Roderich's voice rasps.)

England: (Gently pets through the other's hair, wrapping a wing around Roderich's trembling form.)  Shh . . . I've got you. Rest your voice . . .

Austria: (Nods, leaning weakly into Arthur. After about twenty minutes.)  _  I miss him . .  _   (Even quieter.)  _  I miss them. _

England: (Holds Roderich close, whispering curiously, his tone comforting.)   _ Them? _

Austria: (Admits.)   _ Antonio; Lovino. _

England: (Gently smiles, softly encouraging the other.)  _  Antonio is the king, I assume, but . . who's this Lovino? _

Austria:  _ A . . a cook, and a dear friend of mine . . a lover . . he was always so kind to me. _

England: (Wonders silently to himself how the South seems to be filled with such kind demons, yet they're surrounded by bastards.)   _ He sounds wonderful.  . . . I hope you are able to see them again soon, dear. _

Austria: (Whimpers.)   _ Me too.  _  (Roderich silently cries, falling asleep on Arthur.)

England: (Lays beside him, silently comforting the archangel as he falls back asleep.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

*The next morning.

2p!Austria: (Comes in, a little surprised to find  _ those  _ two snuggling. Checking up on the still sleeping angels, he notes that his prized dove is sick, giving the little bird an injection that should help remove the sickness.)

Austria: (Wakes up not long after the injection. He nudges Arthur.)  Arthur, wake up. Breakfast. (Roderich takes some of his food and gives it to Arthur. As Ryszard's favorite, he's always gotten the most food, and Arthur the least. Taking his own bowl, Roderich eats the fruit concoction, finding it unsatisfying as that's all the angels mostly ever eat.)

England: (Wakes up, grateful that Roderich gave him some of his food. He quietly eats, hating the taste, and glances over at Roderich. Gently.)  Do you feel better this morning?

Austria: (Nods, turning his arm so that Arthur can see the tiny hole and slight redness of his arm.)  I think he gave me some medicine.

England: (Nods.)  I agree. He gave that to you promptly enough, considering.

Austria: (Quietly snorts.)  He can't allowed the 'prized turkey' to die. I would make him far more money if he sold me than if he sold a regular angel.

America: Psst, what are you two talking about?

Austria: The unfortunate truth of worth and money down here.

Norway: Intriguing topic.

Austria: Indeed.  (Roderich minutely rolls his eyes, a stray cough leaving him. He leans back over to Arthur, whispering to him.)   _ Thank you for helping me last night. _

England: (Whispers back.)   _ We need to help our own. I'm just glad you're doing better. _

Austria: (Nods, shifting to curl his wings around Arthur.)

England: (Pulls his own wings around Roderich, sitting with the archangel.)

*In the stillness, the angels hear the  _ whispers _ .

Austria: (Shudders.)

America: Wh- what are they? What are they saying?

Norway: I do not think they are speaking in a language any of us know. It's old . . . ancient beyond compare.

England: (Shakes his head, fearful as he understands only a word or two, lying.)  Even  _ I  _ do not know it. . .

Finland: I-it just sounds like they want us. . . . We don't belong here and it  _ knows  _ . . .

America: I-I-I-I-is it a g-g-ghost?

England: (Gently.)  Goodness, no. Do calm down.

America: Oh thank God.

England: (Gently leans into Roderich, ignoring the whispers the best he can.)

Austria: (Comforts the English angel.)

England: (Keeps Roderich close, trying to relax.)  

2p!Austria: (Comes in skipping.)  Guess what~? It's  _ grooming  _ day.

Finland: (Eyes widen, shrinking away from the demon.)   _ *No, no, no, no, no . . . _

England: (So much for  _ relaxing _ . He turns his head away from Ryszard, lightly trembling. He doesn't want to be touched by anyone, or just any  _ demon _ .)

Austria: (Sighs, shifting to the forefront.)

2p!Austria: (Grins, opening Roderich's cage.)  Goody~. (He leads the angel to a nearby tub, attaching the leash he clipped onto the angel's collar earlier to a bar.)

Austria: (Sits down in the kiddie pool.)

2p!Austria: (Puts on his frilly bright pink and yellow rubber apron as well as his matching rubber gloves, coming over and unlocking the chastity set from around Roderich's body. Grabbing a sponge, he scrubs the archangel.)  Scrub-a-dub-dub~!

Austria: (Stays silent through the whole process, not finding it that bad.)

Finland: (Stays at the far back of his cage, watching carefully.)

2p!Austria: (When he's done washing Roderich, Ryszard dries the archangel off, picking him up and brushing through his wings with a large-toothed comb.)

England: (Stays silent, looking to the other angels as Roderich is groomed.)

Austria: (He's perfectly still the whole time, not an emotion crossing his face to betray what he feels, not even when Ryszard locks him back up in the chastity gear.)

England: (Knows deeply the look in Roderich's eyes. It's so subtle, but he knows that look and he truly resonates with it, praying for their mutual safety.)

2p!Austria: (Twitches at the slightest feeling of something  _ holy _ . He sing-songs.)  I hope one of you isn't doing something stupid like  _ praying~? _

England: (Doesn't let on that it was  _ him  _ silently praying, quirking his head.)  Why would we do that?

2p!Austria: 'Why would we', indeed? I thought I wouldn't need to train that out of you.  (He beams at the angels, putting Roderich back in his cage before pulling out Arthur and doing the same to him.)

England: (Sits, forcing himself to stay calm as he's bathed and groomed.)

2p!Austria: (Hums, bringing out some scissors.)  Hold still, I'm going to trim your bangs a little. I can't  _ see  _ those lovely green eyes of yours anymore.

England: (Closes his eyes, forcing himself to not call upon the Father to protect him. He only hopes Ryszard doesn't accidently hurt him.)

2p!Austria: (Snips away, artfully cutting the other's bangs, then going back to scrubbing.)

England: (Waits until Ryszard goes back to washing him to open his eyes, brushing the hair from his face, actually finding his bangs acceptable.)  . . . Thank you, sir.

2p!Austria: (Dries Arthur off, then brushing through his wings.)

England: (While he enjoys feeling less . . .  _ gross _ , he would have preferred  _ anyone else-  _ besides the demons all around them -to be doing the grooming. This was far too personal a thing for him to be comfortable doing with just  _ anyone _ .)

2p!Austria: (Putting Arthur back in his cage, Ryszard takes care of the others quickly, leaving afterwards because of an adorable demoness in a Lolita dress.)

Norway: (Frowns at how fluffy they all are.)  I dislike how puffy our wings and hair get after these baths.

America: (Complains.)  Dude, me  _ too _ . We look like fucking  _ puffballs _ .

Finland: (Is trying to make everything lie flatter.)  It's honestly ridiculous.

England: (Calmly doesn't mind. Nothing he's not horribly used to.)

Austria: (You can barely even see Roderich, the archangel's voice coming out muffled.)  Try having an extra set.

England: (Gently.)  Use your oil. It'll help everything smooth out.

Austria: (Makes a face.)  You know how  _ awkward  _ it is to try and get all four adequately- you have all seen me bend like a  _ contortionist  _ just to try and reach those  _ unreachable  _ spots.

Finland: We could always help each other. Then we could get everything!  (Gentle smile.)

England: (Nods.)  Indeed. Teamwork is good.

Austria: (Sighs.)  Very well. (He stretches his wings towards the others, wincing at the weird feeling of his feathers catching on the bars.)

Finland: (Gently massages one of the archangel's wings, rubbing oil into the feathers and smoothing them out so they lie beautifully, as they should.)

America: (Helps out where he can, smoothing down Roderich's wings.)

England: (Having taken another wing, he's carefully taking care of his wings and feathers and how they lie, taking comfort from the task.)

Norway: (Strokes the oil down Roderich's wings in even, heavy glides, being very thorough and gentle.)

Austria: (When his friends finish, Roderich gratefully folds his wings again.)  Thank you all. Would you like to go next, Arthur?

England: (Gently nods, lifting his wings the tiniest bit.)  Yes, please?

Finland: (Soft smile.)  Of course, Arthur. (Gestures him to stretch out his wings.)

England: (Gently extends his wings to the others, gratefully taking the help with his grooming.)

*The others help, each angel getting their turn getting their wings groomed until the feathers once again lie flat.

Finland: (Is relaxed, curled up on the bottom of his cage nest Lukas.)  I'm so glad we did that . . .

Norway: I as well, I feel better.

America: (Sighs.)  I feel  _ great _ .

Austria: (Hums in agreement.)

England: (Nods.)  I as well. It's something we all needed, I think.

Austria: Jo.

America: I just wish we could all cuddle.

2p!Austria: Why not~?  (He snaps his fingers, all of the cages melding together into one. He smirks at the angels.)  No sex now, I just came in here for  _ my papers.  _  (Jaunts off.)

Austria: (He blinks in surprise.)

Finland: (Gapes, happily snuggling with Alfred. Softly.)  He actually did something nice for a change . . .

Austria: (Curls his wings around all of the angels, shielding them from view.)

England: (Gratefully hides, snuggling with the other in the softness of Roderich's wings.)

Norway: (Tucks himself against Arthur and Roderich, mostly leaning on the archangel's shoulder.)

Finland: (Snuggles in with Roderich and Alfred, glad that they can all be together, even if they're still in a cage.)  We'll be alright . . . Once we're out of  _ here _ .

England: (Softly.)  Faith will carry us.

America: So will hope.

England: (Nods.)  Indeed, Alfred. Hope too.

Norway: (Begins lowly purring, helping to comfort the others.)

Finland: (Gently purrs as well, trying to help those beside him, resting in their giant cuddle-pile.)

America: (Gently begins snoring.)

England: (A small smile graces his face, petting through Alfred's hair as he sleeps, starting to rest, himself.)

*All of the angels fall asleep in a pile. The next time they wake up, they can see the capital of the South from the window.


	8. Episode 8: The South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now~! For the most long-awaited chapter OF ALL TIME: The South. :D 
> 
> (And, from now on, these two stories and their released episodes will NOT be concurrent. In fact, this is the chapter where everything splits off and you really should read both to see how this whole thing comes together. ;) )
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> June 21, 2018  
> 1/1

*****Within the day, the large parade arrives in the South capital, Ryszard's short procession with the angels stopping just outside the palace. Ryszard goes and speaks to the king, the four angels and the archangel remaining behind in their cage.

Finland: (Peers out the window at the interesting architecture of the South capital, a bit intrigued by the magnificent, and somewhat terrifying, city.)  This is Greed?

Austria: (Fondly.)  Yes, this is my home.

England: (Smiles, speaking kindly.)  You're finally home.

Austria: (His wings shuffle in excitement as he smiles.)

America: (Peers out front his cage.)  It's pretty cool, dude.

England: (Looks as well, taking it in.)  It truly is. Are all the capitals grand like this?

Austria: From what I've seen in pictures, yes.

Finland: Amazing!  (Looks fascinated by the city.)

Norway: Indeed, quite fascinating . .  the way things are taught in Heaven, you would think they lived in huts.

Austria: That would be true- if they were talking about wildemons.

England: Thank heavens these are _not_ wildemons. The latter just seem like . . brutes.

America: Wildemons are what Francois was, right?

Austria: That is correct.

England: (Frowns at the mention of _that_ particular brute. Mutters.)  Let's hope none of us ever encounter one of _them_ again.

Finland: (Nods.)  Indeed. . .

Austria: (Shuffling his wings, Roderich leans against the bars. Softly.)  I can't wait to see my mates again.

England: (Lightly puts a hand on Roderich's arm, murmuring.)  Soon. And soon, you'll be free.

Austria:(Smiles.)  And hopefully, you will all be taken care of and safe.

Finland: (Nervously.)  Hopefully. (Gently smiles.)

Austria: I have faith that you all will.

England: . . .  (Nods.) Thank you. We will be safe. _All_ of us.

Finland: (Hesitantly agrees.)  Hopefully. . .

Norway: If not, we will make the best of it.

England: That we will. We all have our skills and we will persevere. And we will see each other again, sometime soon.

America: Hopefully, man.

Finland: (Takes a deep breath, nodding.)  We will not be separated forever.

Austria: We won't be, I promise you all that.

England: (Nods, smiling.)  All will be well soon.

America: I hope so. Or this is going to be shit.

Finland: (Nods, silent. They all hope that things will go well for them.)

England: (Perks, hearing someone coming. Gently.)  We'll see each other again soon, Roderich.

Demon: (Comes in and carts Roderich away before the archangel can give more than a smile in response.)

Finland: (Gives a tiny wave to Roderich as he leaves, looking to Lukas after the archangel is gone.)

Norway: And so there were four.

England: (Nods.)  Soon, we will all leave.  (Murmurs.) May whoever is last be protected.

*All of the angels nod, somber in their silence.

 

* * *

 

*Nearly three weeks later. All the angels are in their cage, minding their own business, when they sense the presence of _another_ angel nearby.

England: (Softly.)  I hope it's just me, but do any of you sense another?

Norway: It's not just you.

America: No dice, Artie.

Finland: (Nods.)  I'm afraid so, Arthur. There is, indeed, another angel in the capital.

England: (Sighs.)  I can only hope in vain that it has not been captured. . .

Finland: We'll just have to wait and see. If it sticks around . . we'll know what happened.

America: . . . Since when have you ever been an optimist, Arthur?

England: (Gently.)  Pessimism at this time would not make anyone feel better, Alfred. Not with all that has happened here.

America: I'm talking about being a _realist,_ Artie.

England: (Kindly.)  Pessimism and realism are two different things, love. And, as horrible as it is, I would much rather hope for the best than gauge the current situation accurately. Forgive me for that, but I'm just trying to stay hopeful.

Finland: (Nods, murmuring.)  We'll certainly let you know if your hope is foolish.

America: (Flat look.)

Finland: (To Alfred.)  Leave him be.

America: (Shakes his head, looking away in silence.)

England: (Sighs, not saying another word. He doesn’t want to give into his “realism,” quite yet. Times were dire and doing so would be very foolish.)

 

*It’s a while later before Ryszard returns, grinning.

2p!Austria: (Orders out each angel, one by one, and grooms their wings, Arthur being called out last.)

England: (Winces as he’s forced to sit, keeping his head down and not saying a word in fear of doing something wrong. He stays still under the treatment, despite hating every moment of it. Hearing demons approaching, he listens and stays obedient, surprised when Ryszard clips a tag onto his collar.)

Spain: (Remarks as they approach the slaver, trying to get the redhead's attention.)  Another angel sold, I see.

England: (Blinks.)   _*I was sold._  (Listens carefully to their conversation.)

2p!Austria: Jo, your brother sent me a letter the other night, saying he would like this one.  (Gives Arthur's collar a jerk, the angel choking a little in his sitting position while the slaver stands to face the other demons in the room.)  
England: (Softly coughs, just breathing.)

Spain: Which brother, if I may? You know I have several . . .  (Smirks, chuckling.)

2p!Austria: The South West King, Francis Bonnefoy.

Spain: King Francis!  (Looks at the angel, nodding.)  He does seem to be like hermano's type.  (Returns his gaze to Ryszard.) I'm glad to hear that another has sold. That's actually why I came to speak with you.

2p!Austria: Oooohhh????

Spain: (Gestures to Kiku, introducing the demon.)  Ryszard, this is the royal tailor here in the South, Kiku Honda.  (After a moment for formalities.) He is interested in one of your angels, the newest one you had procured. I'm giving him permission to purchase the dove.

2p!Austria: (Hums.)  I'm not sure I can do that- you see, it's company policy not to sell anything that will immediately kill you.

Spain: Everyone and thing can kill, Ryszard. Perhaps, if we have the two of them interact? If the dove goes in for an attack, we shall postpone the purchase a month. If not, you allow purchase within the week.

2p!Austria: Two months, and nothing less.

Spain: (Hums, nodding after a moment.)  Very well. Two months. Shall we?

2p!Austria: (Nods, throwing Arthur back in his cage before heading off with the two demons.)

England: (Absently rubs his neck as they leave, fingering the tag worriedly. He looks to the others, eyebrows furrowed.)

Finland: (Blinks at the collar.)  . . It looks like five angels have become three in one day, if that demon purchases the other.

America: Who's going to own you, Artie?

England: (Gently.)  The South West King, Francis Bonnefoy. Apparently he's the brother of Roderich's royal mate.

Finland: (Eyebrows flit up.)  The South West is close.

Norway: (Hums.)

England: . . Roderich said he was kind. I suppose I will see if that is as true in his private life as it is in public.  (Takes a deep breath, letting it go heavily.)

Finland: (Nods, silent.)

America: . . . Is it just me, or do all of these kings sound like lonely bachelors?

England: (Huffs, a faint and somewhat worried smile on his lips.)  It's not just you. They probably _are_ very lonely creatures, Alfred.

Finland: . . . Lonely isn't always a good thing.

England: Is lonely _ever_ a good thing?  (Doesn't look amused in any way.)

Finland: . .  (Concedes.)

America: (Sighs.)  I really hope we don't become their breeding bitches.

England: . . .  (Nods, letting out a quiet sigh.)  Indeed.

Finland: (Stays silent. That's what _he's_ worried about.)

Norway: (Snorts.)  Good luck to them in my case, then. According to doctors, I'm infertile.

England: (Hums.)  I suppose in this case, that is very fortunate.

America: (Still feels bad for Lukas.)

Finland: (Feels bad as well, but he's mostly worried.)  . . Unless your owner finds fault with that. (Worried look at Lukas.)

Norway: (Shrugs.)  All I know is that my mother left me in a brothel once I hit puberty.

England: (Kindly.)  I'm sorry to hear that, Lukas.

America: . . .  (Doesn't say anything, unsure of what he can say.)

Finland: (Gently slips his hand into Lukas', looking at him silently.)

Norway: (Exhales, holding on to Tino.)

Finland: (Gently strokes over the angel's hand, comforting him. He knows it can be a very harsh reality, not being able to have children as a sub. It's not easy for Lukas, despite the way the angel calmly approaches it.)

Norway: (Leans against Tino through the bars.)

Finland: (Leans back, quietly and comfortingly purring.)

 

* * *

 

*It's a day or so later when the fifth angel's cage is brought in to join theirs, revealing him to be Heracles.

Greece: (Looks up at the other angels, silent until the demons leave.)

America: (Waits until Ryszard leaves.)   . . You seem vaguely familiar.

England: (Peers at him, the other angel sitting up.)  Heracles?

Greece: (Blinks at a few familiar angels, regarding the youngest.)  I've seen you around as well. I'm Heracles Karpusi.

America: Alfred F. Jones.

Greece: (Nods respectfully.)  It's a pleasure. (Looks at Arthur, then the rest.)  It's good to see you all alive down here.

England: It's good to be alive. Though-  (Gently, not trying to be mean.) -I can't say it's good to see you.

Greece: (Hums, nodding.)  . . . How long have you all been down here?

Finland: A few months, I assume.

America: It's a little hard to tell time down here.

Greece: (Nods.)  I don't doubt it, especially being . . _here._

Norway: (Nods.)

Greece: (Settles, quiet. What was there really to talk about? He lightly pulls against his cuffs, disliking them _immensely._ )

America: _*He's fuckin' ripped._

Finland: (Hums, quiet with the somewhat unfamiliar angel. He knows of Heracles, but not much more.)

America: . . . Sooo . . . You uh, you . . single?  (Blushes.)

Greece: (Blinks, surprised by the question, but he answers honestly, finding the young angel a bit attractive as well. He's just young. And they're also in captivity in Hell.)  Yes, I am.

America: It's just, uh, you have some fu- fantastic muscles. And I find that kind of, uh, manly. And you're tall. And broad.

Greece: Thank you. You're quite attractive, yourself.

America: (Flutters his wings flirtatiously.)  Thank you, Heracles.

Greece: (Tiny smile, his wings extending a bit as well to show them off.)

Finland: (Looks at Lukas, very surprised to see _flirting,_ of all things, down _here,_ not really sure if they should say anything.)

Norway: (Lets Alfred have his happiness.)

America: (Leans in closer.)  So, what type of angel are you? I'm a Ventus angel.

Greece: (Rests against the side of the cage closest to Alfred, very interested about this young angel.)  I'm a Somnium angel.

America: (His eyes shine.)  A dreamwalker angel? You guys are awesome!

Greece: (Smiles at the excitement.)  Thank you. Ventus angels are also quite remarkable with the amount of power you can harness. For flight, for offense and defense. Really, your type are amazing.

America: (Blushes.)  Thanks.

Greece: (Gently.)  You're very welcome, Alfred.  (Tentatively reaches into Alfred's cage, holding out his hand to the other.)

America: (Takes the hand, but his smile dips a bit.)  So, who are you to be sold to?

Greece: . . A demon here in the South named Kiku. He . . He's . . . mysterious. And _powerful._

America: Oh.  (Flicks his own tag, which was put on a few days ago, but has been able to hide from the other angels through some miracle.)  I'm going North.

Greece: (Eyebrows furrow.)  The opposite side of Hell. That's . . very unfortunate.

Norway: (His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.)

Finland: (Is suddenly very, very worried. Not just for Alfred's sake, but also- _Lukas and him were the only ones left._ )

England: (Eyes widen, gently interrupting the two.)  When were you tagged, Alfred?

America: . . . Two days ago.

Finland: . . Why didn't you say anything?

America: (Mutters.)  I didn't want to talk about it.

Greece: (Gently squeezes his hand, gazing at the other's silently with a look that says _leave him alone._ )

England: . . .  (Softly.) If you do want to talk, we're here. We always are, Alfred.

America: (Quietly.)  Gotcha, Artie.

Norway: (Leans against Tino, suddenly very tired.)

Finland: (Leans back, keeping him close, afraid.)

England: (Nods, curling up in his wings and minding his own business.)

Greece: (Gently strokes over the young angel's hand, looking at him and trying to meet his eyes.)

America: (Gazes up into Heracles' green eyes.)

Greece: (Gazes back, looking over the other's bright blue eyes, still youthful but shrouded in a look of age and maturity that . . just didn't belong there, embedded into the other's somewhat tired and worn appearance. He was beautiful, that was without a doubt, but he was not treated with the care he deserved. Softly, just loud enough for the two of them.)  Are you afraid of what the North will hold?

America: (Quietly.)  Well, yeah. That's where the Blood King is. He's the one that's going to own me.

Greece: (Nods.)  . . I'm sorry, I wish I knew what to say to you. Nothing I could say would help.

America: (Weakly smiles.)  Don't worry about it, man. All we've got is now.

Greece: . .  (Takes Alfred's hand and softly kisses his knuckles.)  That we do.

America: (Blushes.)  H-hey, uh . . . would you mind if you . . kissed me? I want my first kiss to be by someone I like.

Greece: (Is saddened by that. This young angel has not even been in a relationship and he's being forced to be the possession of a lonely demon king who would most likely hurt him. That hurt him inside. He nods.)  I wouldn't mind. (Reaches up, gently brushing Alfred's hair to the side and drawing him in, looking to the young angel for any sign of discomfort or displeasure.)

America: (Leans in, mirroring Heracles.)

Greece: (Leans in, softly kissing the other and letting him get a feel for it.)

America: (Sighs into it, melting into his kiss with Heracles.)

Greece: (Enjoys the kiss, loving how soft and sweet and innocent it is, the older angel gently deepening it a bit.)

America: (Quietly moans, hanging onto Heracles.)

Greece: (Holds him as close as he can through the bars, the two parting after a few long moments, Heracles just looking at the angel with a soft and affectionate gaze.)

America: (Inhales.)  Thank you. That was . . _perfect._

Greece: (Leans in and gently pecks Alfred one more time before murmuring.)  I'm glad it was.

America: (Treasures the kisses.)  Truly . . thank you, Heracles.

Greece: (Gently strokes the pads of his fingers over Alfred's cheek.)  You're welcome. If . . if you would like more, you know where I am. (Softly smiles, the line coming out a bit awkward and amusing.)

America: (Scoots over closer.)  I know you're close, can you come closer?  (Awkwardly.) Again?

Greece: (Smiles, coming back in affectionately.)  Close enough?

America: (Leans against the bars of the cage.)  Y-yeah . . .

Greece: (Smirks, coming in and kissing Alfred again, softly at first before nibbling lightly on the other's lip, trying to draw him out of his inexperienced shell.)

America: (Kisses back, carefully opening his mouth.)

Greece: (Softly purrs, encouraging him as he teaches the angel how to kiss. He carefully adds a tiny bit of tongue, tentative and soft.)

America: (Responds exceptionally well, returning every move shown to him.)

Greece: (More confidently adds tongue, purring as he reaches up, gently stroking through Alfred's hair as he deeply kisses the young angel.)

America: (Moans, brushing his hands through Heracles' hair.)

Greece: (Lightly grips Alfred's hair is his hand, moaning against the other's mouth. He's surprised by how fast of a learner Alfred is, but he most definitely isn't complaining.)

America: (Lightly pants, having to pull away after a few minutes.)

Greece: (Pants as well, resting his forehead against the side of the cage. His hands are on the other's thighs, near his knees, keeping him close and keeping himself steady.)  . . You're a fast learner.

America: Th-thanks. You're a d-damn good teacher.

Greece: (Smiles at him.)  Thank you. It was very enjoyable.

America: (Confesses.)  I gotta admit, if there weren't bars, I'd consider letting you be my first.

Greece: (Leans in, kissing Alfred's face.)  That's very flattering. I . . (Gently.) I just hope your first is kind and patient, not . . .  (Doesn't finish the sentence, slipping his hands into the angel's.) Only a true fool would be disrespectful in bed, especially to one as young as yourself.

America: Thanks, man.  (Smiles.) That means a lot, from a hottie like yourself.

Greece: (Quietly chuckles, smiling back.)  You're not too bad yourself, Alfred.

America: (Folds his long legs under himself.)  Thanks. Again. (Chuckles.) I'm saying that a lot. Aren't I.  (Makes a frustrated noise.) Why are all of my sentences so short and _clipped?_

Greece: (Gently.)  You're nervous. Take a deep breath . . . and just remember that you have no reason to be nervous. Everything's okay.

America: Except the fact you're a ten out of ten on the scale of sexiness?

Greece: (Smiles.)  And you're a twelve out of ten? Yes, I recognize these facts.

America: (Goes bright red.)  And an eleven out of ten on a scale of smooth-talkers.

Greece: (Smirks.)  I do my best.

America: I can tell.  (Smiles.)

Greece: (Smiles back.)  What's your favorite thing, Alfred?

America: Besides flying? . . Food is pretty awesome.

Greece: Any favorite food?

America: Hamburgers! And steak, turkey, chicken, cheese . . . those sorts of things. And pudding.

Greece: (Smiles at the other's enthusiasm, knowing it to be genuine.)  All very good choices, for sure. (Gently.) My favorite thing are cats.

America: Animals are awesome! I admit to being more of a dog person, but cats can be pretty sweet.

Greece: Dogs are fun and energetic.  (Smiles sweetly.) Reminds me of you.

America: And you do kinda remind me of a cat. All long, rolling muscles and- stuff.

Greece: (Chuckles.)  Thank you. That's a wonderful compliment, especially coming from you.

America: (Blushes again, rubbing the back of his neck.)  I like your wings. Very, uh, woodsy. Camouflaged. And cool.

Greece: (Shuffles his wings, preening at the attention.)  Thank you~. (Peers at the other's, just loving the color so much!)  Yours are . . fantastic. So stunning and beautiful and bright.

America: Eh, they're kind of typical.

Greece: (Blinks in surprise.)  No, they're not _typical._ They're beautiful, Alfred. I've never _seen_ such stunning wings.  (Turns pink at the confession, a little awkward and trying to play it off.)

America: (Flushes, his wings fluttering of their own accord.)

Greece: . .  (Flutters back, smiling at the other.)

America: (Carefully extends the tips of his wings into Heracles' cage, tentatively reaching for the dominant switch's own.)

Greece: (Extends his own wings back, caressing the other's wings and feathers, his own wing-tips lightly glowing.)

America: (Coos, attracted to the broad, strong wings.)

Greece: (Postures dominantly and purrs, drawing Alfred closer as he caresses the angel with his wings.)

Norway: (Blushes, wishing someone would display to him like that.)

Finland: (Also blushes, looking away and trying to focus on something else- _anything_ else.)

Norway: (Finds himself scooting closer on instinct. Especially in the red light district, it isn't uncommon for several submissive angels to flock to a more dominant one to mate.)

England: (Blushes heavily from under his feathers, very much wishing someone would display to him like that, but he has a feeling that this won't end well for some angel.)

Greece: (Takes advantage of his dominance among the four submissives and lightly flaps into the other's cage, his scent going with it as he preens.)

Norway: (Flushes, lust twinging the redness of his cheeks as he slides closer, instinct cloying his mind.)

America: (Softly moans, pressing in as close as possible.)

Finland: (Scoots a bit closer, joining in as the heavy and alluring scent washes over them, purring.)

England: (Stays under his wings. _He's good, thanks._ He keeps an eye out for demons, keeping his nose buried in his wings and his _own_ scent.)

Greece: (Purrs deeply, scent-marking the angels near him by rubbing his wings against the submissive angels, drawing them closer. He kisses up Alfred's face and neck, since he's closest, and nibbles on the young angel's neck.)

America: (Can't help put quietly pant, getting more aroused by the minute in the embrace of the stupidly sexy dom-switch angel.)

Greece: (Strokes up Alfred's thigh, gently teasing his smooth, sensitive skin.)

2p!Austria: . . . Well DAMN.  (Whistles.) You know, if you two weren't sold, I'd definitely let you two go at it.

Greece: ( _Glares_ at Ryszard, his wings bunching up around him as he snarls at the wildemon, protecting the submissive angels by putting himself between them.)

2p!Austria: . . . The regrets are actually so real.  (Starts grumbling over the lost, easy money. Seriously. If Heracles didn't have a buyer, he would just let him fuck Tino and Lukas in a heartbeat.)

Greece: (Continues to glare, instinctively trying to protect the subs.)

2p!Austria: _*Then again . . ._   --  I'll be back in a bit.  (He leaves, sending out nine letters. One for each king, and one for Kiku. To the kings, he writes that if any want a possibly pregnant angel, or would like one completely untouched, to contact him. To Kiku, he writes that the demon must pay a fee to keep Ryszard from letting Heracles touch the other angels.)

Greece: (Grumbles, glad the demon left them alone.)

America: What do you think he's doing?

England: (Quiet.)  Not something good.

Greece: (Wings twitch, nodding.)  Definitely not something good. He had an evil look to him.

Finland: (Wraps his wings slightly around himself, wary.)

Greece: (Turns and takes Alfred's hand, holding onto the young angel.)

America: (Squeezes back gently, staring at the door.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally suggest reading AFLF: Season Five if you want the FULL story here. Go check it out now!!


	9. Episode 9: The Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Sorry~! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> June 26, 2018  
> 1/1

**** *In the South West.

France: (When Monique brings him the letter and he opens it, he is unsurprised but instantly replies that he'd like the angel to remain untouched. He would like Arthur to remain as he is, especially since he's so close to being delivered, the demon a little excited at the thought. He sends the eloquent reply before continuing with his work, taking care that the preparations for his new companion will be ready when he arrives.)

. . .

*In the West.

Germany: (Reads over the letter, interested and unsurprised that they decided to begin breeding angels upon request. He sends a disinterested reply since he is not purchasing an angel.)

. . . 

*In the North West.

Prussia: (Pouts over the fact he isn't getting one, but sends a 'maybe'.)

. . . 

*In the North. 

Russia: (Sends an immediate 'No' when he gets Ryszard's letter, frowning massively.)

. . . 

*In the North East.

Sweden: (Says no as well, getting back to work sorting through papers.)

. . . 

*In the East.

Denmark: (Is a little torn at first, wondering if any of the angels were  _ already  _ pregnant. He replies a no to the request but doesn't say anything else. He wouldn't say no to a pregnant angel, but he preferred to take care of those things himself instead of ordering an angel like that.)

. . . 

*In the South East.

Portugal: . . . Why the fuck does he keep bothering me? No.  (Sends a no, grumbling as he gets back to his inventing binge.)

. . .

*In the South King's study when the letter arrives.

Spain: (Reads over the letter, blinking in surprise as he  _ realizes. _ Angel breeding is a thing now that Ryszard has the means to do it. He hums, just glad Roderich is home with him so he doesn't have to worry if his wife will be pregnant or not when he returns. He sends a brief reply as "uninterested" and hides the letter, keeping it to himself for now, not wanting to tell Roderich quite yet.)

. . .

Japan: (Finds Ryszard and threatens him up for trying to negotiate an already set price, Ryszard really just keeping Heracles across the room from the others, for distance.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to comment and check out Season Five of AFLF (As the Feathers Lightly Fall) to get the whole story!


	10. Episode 10: The Ties that Bind: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I cut it in half. I know it's short, I'm so sorry. I really needed to post a chapter, so I cut it in half. I'm praying I get the other half ACTUALLY DONE. 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> July 3, 2018  
> 1/1

**** *It's a few more days before they begin moving again, heading west from the South.

Greece: (Sits in his cage, a little upset that he was separated from the angels, looking over at them quietly. At least they're not being forced to breed.)

America: (Reaches over with his wing, barely being able to touch Heracles.)

Greece: (Softly smiles, reaching back with his own to hug the other's wing.)

America: (Beams back, receding when he hears footsteps coming towards them.)

Greece: (Quickly recedes as well, not wanting anyone to get in trouble.)

2p!Austria: (Comes in.)  Hello~. (He carts Heracles away.)  Off to training!

America: (When they're gone, he looks after them worriedly.)  I hope Heracles will be alright . . .

Norway: Indeed. Trying to train him in two months . . . I'm concerned.

England: (Gently.)  I just hope he has the sense to play along so it goes better for him.

Finland: (Shifts, quite worried for the older angel. He certainly seemed to be the stubborn type who might try and fight.)

Norway: (Shifts, sitting back somberly as he thinks about his little brother, alone in Heaven.)

Finland: (Slips his hand into Lukas', knowing what's on his mind. It's been weighing heavily on his own, as well.)

Norway: _ *Emil . . I'm sorry I'm not there to take care of you, not is Tino . . . I'll do my best to make it back to you soon. _

America: (In his own cage, he misses his brother as well.)   _ *Sorry I'm not around, Mattie. I know we said we would always go up against these things together, but I am so damn glad you aren't here, twinsie. _

Finland: (Snuggles into Lukas, worried about Emil. They were all a haphazard family, but he misses it immensely.)   _ *Stay safe, Emil. Don't get into any trouble while we're gone. We'll be home soon. _

England: (Huddled in his own wings, alone, he thinks about his brothers, wondering if they know where he is. If they know he's alive or not. . . If they miss him.)   _ *You idiots better take care of each other even better now that I'm not there to help . . . _

America: (Sits in silence until Heracles is brought back in, Ryszard leaving to take care of things elsewhere.)

Greece: (Sighs when Ryszard leaves, leaning against the side of the cage tiredly. He gives Alfred a gentle smile as if to say "I'm alright, don't worry about me.")

America: (Smiles back encouragingly. After a moment he plucks a blue feather from his wing, throwing it over to Heracles.)

Greece: (Stretches as he reaches for it, grabbing the beautiful feather and pulling it in. He smiles at the gift, lifting it to his nose to take in the beautifully sweet scent of roses and grain, but with an airy and light feel to it like a summer breeze. He purrs, setting it down to pluck a beautiful green feather, carefully tossing it over to Alfred with a smile.)

America: (Catching the feather, he enjoys the smell of a richly spiced red wine, rocks under the hot sun, and a whiff of sea salt all settling into him as he gently hides the feather on the inside of his wing.)

Greece: (Purrs, hiding his own, blue feather within the inside of his wing, keeping it safe. He smiles at Alfred, happy now that he's back here with him.)


	11. Episode 11: The Ties that Bind: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD. I'm appalled that it took us so long to finish up the scene that was holding up the show. It only ended up being, like, fifteen lines??? But I needed help and we were distracted by other projects. APOLOGIES. This train WILL chug on! I have about three weeks of chapters ready to go, so there will be no more delays for a while. HURRAH! 
> 
> Please enjoy~. Your regularly scheduled program will resume this Tuesday at 12:00AM US CT, so keep it in your mind! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> July 9, 2018  
> 1/1

**** *A few days later, Kiku appears before the angels while Ryszard is away.

Greece: (Seeing the demon, he straightens up a bit, wondering why he's here.)

England: (Recognizes him, also wondering why he's here.)

Finland: (Stays close to Lukas, wary of demons.)

Greece: (Gently.)  Hello again, Kiku.

Japan: I was sent here by lady Roderich, with the enquiry of whether you would all be accepting of trading feathers with him. He would ask in person, but considering the circumstances, it was found . .  _ unwise. _

England: Very understandable, considering.  (Nods, looking to the others.) I know I would be accepting of it.

Finland: (Nods.)  I as well.

Greece: As would I.  (Gently.) Give Roderich my regards. I never got the chance to speak with him.

Japan: Of course. If you would, I'll take your feathers now, and will have his ladyship's feathers sent to you once you have reached your new 'home'.

America: (Nods, handing over one feather from each of his colors.)

Norway: (A cousin to Roderich, he hands over two of each color.)

Finland: (Hands over one of each color, not being quite as close.)

England: (Considering Roderich a very close friend, he hands over two of each color as well.)

Greece: (Hands over two of each as well as a gift of respect to the archangel he will be living in the same castle as.)

England: (Gently, as the demon collects the feathers.)  Is Roderich becoming more well again?

Japan: It is a slow-going process, but yes. My lady is getting better.

England: (Smiles, glad.)  Good. I'm happy for him. 

Japan: I and everyone else is as well. He is well-liked, here.

England: I'm glad to hear that. He really enjoys it in the South, so I hope it continues to be home to him.  (Casually adds.) And feels more like home for others, in time.

Greece: (Doesn't say a word, despite knowing that was aimed at him.)

Japan: Just as I hope that you will all find your own place here in Hell.

England: (Hums, nodding.)  Thank you.

America: Yeah, thanks.

Norway: (Nods.)

Finland: (Softly nods, looking at him kindly.)

Japan: I wish all of you a good day.  (Disappears.)

Greece: (Is a little uncomfortable, but is very glad Kiku is gone again.)

America: You alright, Heracles?

Greece: . .  (Nods.) Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay.  (Smiles reassuringly at Alfred.)

America: (Smiles.)  Good.

Greece: (Quietly purrs, glad he could make Alfred more reassured. He's still rather bothered by Kiku, simply because he doesn't really know the demon or how anything will go for him, but he doesn't show it, not wanting to bother others.)

England: (Hums to himself, hoping, as Kiku had, that they all find their places in Hell. And that they can be content with that place, if only a bit.)

 

* * *

 

 

*It's been about a week and a half of travel and Arthur has never been so nervous, having that tagged collar saying he's been sold. To the  _ Renard d'étincelles. _ The Fox of Sparks. King Francis Bonnefoy of South West Hell. Better known in Heaven as the  _ Ravager King. _ What luck. At least Roderich had given him some quick information about the French demon he was going to be living with for the next long while, unless he could figure out an escape. 

That kept him rather hopeful, the idea that Arthur could gain the demon's trust until he's able to escape this awful realm full of disgusting, lecherous creatures. Yet, he couldn't help but be afraid of this demon. He was a demon, after all. And he knew  _ exactly  _ what demons wanted from angels. 

*Knocking Arthur from his thoughts, the red-headed demon slaver whisked into the room, putting all the angels on edge.

2p!Austria: Hellooooo~!

England: (Feathers slightly bristle, staying silent in the presence of this demon in particular.) 

Finland: (Stays close beside Lukas, watching Ryszard carefully.) 

2p!Austria: Soooo, we're almost to the South West~. How do you all feel about  _ that? _

England: (Reaches up, fiddling with his tag a little bit, honestly stressed beyond belief about this. Gently.)  Intrigued. How long will it be, sir?

2p!Austria: Ohhhh, just a few more days, nothing to worry about~.

England: (Hums, nodding. He silently looks to the others, unsure about everything.)

America: (The only one asleep of the bunch, Alfred is sleeping with his head on Arthur's lap.)

England: (Pets through the young angel's hair, glad someone is relaxed out the four of them. (Heracles was in being held in a separate area today.) Though there were only five of them now, he was simultaneously very happy that Roderich was safely away from here, but also rather missed the archangel's company. For all their arguing, he really did connect with Roderich far more than the others, at times, despite all of their differences. At least  _ Roderich  _ felt at ease, here in Hell. Arthur, on the other hand, still hadn't discovered the trick to that.)

2p!Austria: (Giggles.)  I'll be back in a fewsies~!  (Leaves.)

Norway: (Sighs.)  That demon is . . insane. Erratic.

Finland: (Nods.)  It's frightening how unstable he is.

Norway: Truly.

England: (Softly.)  Like a loose canon that doesn't know when or where to shoot.

America: (Snuffles, curling up further.)

England: (Drapes his wings loosely around the angel, looking down at the tag on Alfred's collar that was similar to his own. Two of the four sold and being sent away to their new kings, as stressful as it was. If he was honest, he was afraid for Alfred. The angel was young and headstrong and independent, and that just  _ breathed  _ trouble around demons. Could anyone blame him for being concerned?)

Norway: (Glances at Alfred.)  I am glad he is able to rest. Though Tino and I are left to wonder about who is to own us.

England: (Looks to them, nodding.)  I've been a bit worried about that, myself, but I'm more worried about who's left to be sold last, forced to be here alone with that sod.

Finland: (Wings shuffle.)  It's been so long, but everything is suddenly moving so quickly, even with the weeks of travel between capitals.

Norway: Indeed, but that is what dread seems to do, doesn't it?

Finland: (Nods, pausing a silent couple of moments before whispering.)  I don't want to be sold off and separated from all of you. There is little power in being alone, surrounded by the enemy. . .

Norway: (Softly.)  But I have a feeling not many kings own more than one angel. At least, not that they will at first.

Finland: That's my  _ point _ . It'll only be us, the 'greatest possession' of these demon kings. Will we even be  _ able  _ to escape?

Norway: . . . I very much doubt it. Not unless the king is a complete and utter idiot.

Finland: (Deflates, curling his wings around his shoulders a bit to comfort himself in silence. None of them wanted to be here. Saying so would be pointless.)

 

* * *

 

 

*A few days later, _ they finally reach the capital. _

America: (Looks through the windows the best he can. In an awed voice.)  Wow . . . this city is actually kind of . . . pretty.

England: (Looks as well, rather surprised at the artful architecture- it was  _ Hell _ , was it not? -and all the other things he noticed about the city. Was it the people that wanted this, or was this the product of their king?)  . . Surprisingly, yes. It . . is.

Finland: (Peeks out as well.)  Hell really is quite diverse, isn't it?

Norway: (Admits.)  I almost wonder what the rest of it looks like . .

England: (Nods.)  I as well. . . I doubt I'll ever get the chance, but it would be amazing to see more of it from somewhere that  _ wasn't  _ a cell.

America: I would kind of like to know what it looks like; . . to explore all of this . . would be pretty awesome, right?

England: Perhaps . . .

2p!Austria: (Peeks in.)  We're almost to the castle, dovies~!!!!

England: (Keeps his head down, more nervous than before. Of course the city seemed beautiful, but what if Roderich was wrong? What if the king wasn't really as kind as everyone thought? What if he the worst demon they had encountered  _ yet? _ )

Finland: (Softly.)  Arthur, relax. Everything's going to be alright.

England: (Just nods, unconvinced. He's extremely skeptical about all this working out well.)

America: Dude, listen to Tino. He knows his shit.

England: (Gently.)  I believe his heart's in the right place, but . .  (Looks up at Alfred.) . . do you blame me for worrying?

America: Nah, but . . I dunno . . see what he's like instead of what you think he will be. This king dude, I mean.

England: . . .  (Nods.)  Of course, I'll get to know him a bit to make sure he's not a lunatic, but . . there's always that uncertainty. It makes me doubt everything and it's . . rather fucking nerve-wracking, honestly.

Finland: Give him time. He's probably never had an angel and may even be extremely kind to you, you never know.

England: (Gives Tino a small look like, "And if he isn't?")

Finland: (Gently.)  I know you're a pessimist, but just wait for it. Don't think about it.

*The transport lurches to a stop.

England: (Just takes deep breaths, not answering that at all. He's just  _ waiting _ .)

2p!Austria: (Skips in with a vial, addressing Arthur.)  Now, do I need to get a needle or will you drink this?

England: (Pales a bit.)  . . . May I ask what it is first?

2p!Austria: Just a little wavy drink~. Don't worry about it and  _ swallow _ .  (Forces it into Arthur's mouth.)

England: (Forces himself to swallow it, coughing at the taste and that fact that it was literally  _ forced into his mouth.  _ Then? Things start to feel fuzzy and slowly less and less clear. He only remembers being moved around and being passed off to a large, warm presence, before passing out completely.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOOOOOOOO HERE WE GO!!!! Jesus, I have been so excited to get to this point, you have NO IDEA. I can't wait to hear what you all think about our developments and, especially after the Tuesday chapter, what you guys all think of a special character addition~. 
> 
> Comment below~!


	12. Episode 12: Renard d'Étincelles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a decent sized chapter. FINALLY. Hope you all enjoy it~!! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> July 10, 2018  
> 1/1

*****It isn't until about four hours later that Arthur comes to in a foreign room.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/41565035780/in/album-72157698540033164/)

England: (Blinks awake, his head still heavy and a bit numb from the whole drugging experience as he looks around the unfamiliar room. The golden tones throughout the open, rather inviting room felt warmer than what he was used to with his cage. In fact . . it was beautiful. Sitting up, the angel looked around and tried to recall the events between this and when they arrived in the South West, but he could only remember Ryszard forcing him to drink something. Arthur frowned. He was drugged and given to the king. How lovely.)

*A maid comes into the room, taking note that the angel is awake as she nods her head to him.

Demon Maid: The king has requested that you bathe. If you will please follow me, lady dove.

England: (Nearly snickers at the absolutely _abhorred_ title given to him, barely keeping a straight face.) _*Lady dove? How ridiculous._  (He gets up, promptly following the maid. At least she seemed kind?)

Demon Maid: (Softly.)  Please don't make me use the chains, my lady.  (She motions to the chain bracelets on her arms, made to restrain Arthur if need be.)

England: (Eyes widen slightly, his hands remaining clasped in front of him.) _*She's scared of me. A rather lower class demon to be afraid of myself._ (Gently.)  You needn't worry, miss. The bath?

Demon Maid: (Swallows, opening the door so that the angel can be allowed into the immense room.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42469292045/in/album-72157698540033164/)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/41565035630/in/album-72157698540033164/)

England: (Starts inside, literally stopping in shock as he looks at the absolutely _immense_ bath within. The air was warm and wet, the water clear, and the entire room- built _beyond_ beautifully -clean and well-lit. Softly, barely audible.)  Oh _my_ . . .  (He goes in farther, just taking a moment to look around the bath first, taking in all the little details. When he's ready and even more curious, he strips and slips into the bath, letting his body sink into the warmth and his wings spread out to be cleaned for the first time in _ages_.)

Demon Maid: (Quietly stands in a corner with her head bowed until she is called forward to take care of the angel.)

England: (Having already washed up and groomed through his feathers enough to feel comfortable and _clean-_ such a strangely foreign thing -he calls over the maid, speaking kindly- yet awkwardly -to her as he comes out of the bath, his wings sopping wet. (He's determined to not be an asshole and make allies here as soon as he's able.))  Miss, would you mind helping me, um, dry my wings? They can be a bit cumbersome when they're wet.

Demon Maid: (Nods, coming over with a towel and helping him wrap up in it. She gently leads him over to some vents.)  Here . . these vents are used to help dry yourself off, especially your wings.

England: That's quite helpful, thank you.  (Takes a couple steps away from her to give his wings a single, violent shake to rid them of a large amount of water right away before going to the vents and expanding his wings, drying them off rather easily with the aid.)

MD: You are welcome, my lady.

England: (As he's drying them off, he asks the maid a question gently, hoping not to scare her away.)  Miss, may I learn your name?

Demon Maid: Mitsy.

England: (Smiles gently.)  Thank you, Mitsy, for helping me. I really appreciate it. You may call me Arthur, if you prefer it.

Demon Maid: (Bows her head as she helps the angel into a robe.)  Yes, my lady. Please, allow me to help you into your dress. The king sent it to your chambers.

England: (Nods.)  That is very kind, thank you.  (Adjusts his robe a bit, the two promptly returning to, what he now assumes, is his chambers- which was already such a gorgeous room, but it was _his?_ -to find the dress, wary of what he was given.)

Demon Maid: (Gasps over the dress, which has been laid out on a chair.)  Oh, it's beautiful, my lady.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42469292005/in/album-72157698540033164/)

England: (Catches sight of the gorgeous gown, his eyes widening in surprise. Green and gold in an elegant design that made him almost not want to wear it, for it was far too beautiful for him. He picks up the dress, holding it up and looking over it. Softly.)  It's gorgeous . . .

Demon Maid: Shall I help you get into it?

England: No, no. That won't be necessary, I don't think.  (Sets the dress to the side for a moment before removing his robe, maneuvering into the dress. When everything's settled into place, he's honestly surprised how perfectly everything fit.)

Demon Maid: (Takes a comb, brushing the angel's shoulder-length hair into a ponytail and holding it all together with a matching gold and emerald hair clip.)  There you go, my lady.

England: (Gives her a small, grateful smile.)  Thank you, Mitsy.

Demon Maid: (Bows her head acceptingly.)  Please, follow me.

England: (Nods, following the maid out of his large, elegant chambers. He was nervous. _Immensely_ nervous.)

Demon Maid: (She leads the angel through the halls, the palace eerily empty as she takes him the throne room. From the shadows, a large figure- demonic, covered in what appeared to be fur, with large wings and horns -works its way forward, claws clicking on stone as it comes forward, glowing blue eyes barely visible in the shade as it finally steps into the light- to reveal a regal demon of a more human height and physique and everything -who, in a seemingly bored fashion, sits upon the throne and just gazes at Arthur, inspecting the angel.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/41565035420/in/album-72157698540033164/)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42469291585/in/album-72157698540033164/)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42469290335/in/album-72157698540033164/)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/29503264718/in/album-72157698540033164/)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/41565039950/in/album-72157698540033164/)

England: (Folds his hands neatly, staring for a moment at the terrifying looking figure. _The King._ Unsure what else to do, he comes forward, eyes down and submissive, stopping not far from the throne.)

France: (Hums, motioning for him to come closer.)

England: (Comes closer as directed, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He silently hopes the king cannot hear it as well.)

France: (Slowly lifts a hand, tilting Arthur's face up with a finger on his chin. Leaning forward, he lays a chaste peck on Arthur's lips before drawing back with a smirk.)  Tres belle.

England: ( _French_. "Very beautiful." He keeps his eyes mostly down, replying softly.)  Thank you, your majesty.

France: (Francis takes the angel's hand, getting up and walking with the angel.)  How are you feeling? That drug Ryszard gave you seemed a little . . . (Francis tries to say the word, but he's blanking on the English language.)  . . . what is that word, that fort? _Forte?_  (Groans as he can't remember.) _C'est stupide._

England: (Peers up at the other cautiously, offering a word hopefully.)  Strong?

France: (Beams, clapping his hands.)  Oui! Yes! (He smiles at Arthur.) Cute _and_ helpful, who knew I would get such a wonderful little angel?

England: (Smiles the tiniest bit in return, intrigued by this demon. He certainly seemed . . _alright_ , thus far.)  I merely thought it best to help, sir.

France: (Flushes, trying not to- trying not to- MERDE. Francis can't help himself as he pulls the angel in and cuddles him, squeezing.)  Mignon-mignon-mignon-mignon-mignon-mignon-mignon!

England: (Squeaks in surprise, allowing the demon to cuddle him. _'Cute,'_ was he? That was a new one.)

France: (Coos.)  I'm never going to let you go; I shall keep you forever~.  (Francis purrs, picking up Arthur in a princess-carry.)

England: (Holds onto the demon's shoulder, keeping silent as he looks over the demon's features- his bright blue eyes, seemingly kind as they were; his rather long, luxurious blonde hair bouncing and shining with every movement; the stubbled beard following his jawline -and the way he looked so flawlessly elegant. Even with all of his demonic features at the forefront, he didn't seem frightening. Just the opposite, with that kind look in his eyes. Blushing, he looks away, mentally scolding himself. Lord, was he really just admiring this demon? Surely it must be the drug still in his system from earlier.)

France: (Sees the admiring look and _preens_ . He uses a hand to flip his hair for a moment before going out the door of the throne room and making for his own chambers.)  I know, I am _quite_ sexy, oui?

England: _*Cocky, isn't he?_  (He chuckles quietly, not saying anything. He does, however, look around the castle as the demon carries him away.)

France: I hope that you will enjoy yourself here, I'll give you more of a tour later.

England: _*I hope so too._  --  Thank you, your majesty.

France: (Sets Arthur down once they arrive in his chambers, Francis spreading his wings a little before folding them once more as he walks over to the vanity.)

England: (Stands there, hands folded primly, as he watches the other, his head down while his eyes following the other. His eyes catch sight of the demon's white and gold wings, rather unique for what he'd seen thus far in Hell, and- with a light blush -a glimpse of quite a large wingspan.)

France: (Blinks at Arthur.)  Oh. Sorry, could you take a seat?  (He motions to the chair at the vanity.)

England: (Flushes embarrassedly, following and taking a seat as directed.)  

France: (Takes the clip out of Arthur's hair, grabbing a brush and going through the angel's hair. The demon then proceeds to have fun and treat Arthur like a doll, styling his hair in multiple fashions, much to Francis' glee.)

England: (Sits there patiently under the pampering, getting ideas for himself and his hair as he does so.)

France: You do have very nice hair, if a little dry.  (Saying this, Francis takes a small bottle of moisturizer and applies it to Arthur's hair and scalp.)

England: (Gently.)  Thank you, sir.

France: (He massages Arthur's scalp.)  Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Francis Bonnefoy.

England: (Leans a bit into the hands, looking kindly at the other through the mirror.)  Arthur Kirkland, your majesty. It's a pleasure to meet you, formally. I've heard much about you, sir.

France: (Amused.)  I hope not all bad.

England: (Gentle smile.)  Not all bad, no.

France: Tres bien.

England: (Continues watching the other, silent and calm.)

France: (Finally he decides on a an up-do that stylishly piles all of Arthur's hair on top of his head.)  Now if you could, strip. -- _*I wonder how far I can push him before he snaps?_

England: (Stiffens a bit, having hoped something like this _wouldn't_ happen. Calmly, he stands and removes the dress, striping. He stubbornly keeps his gaze down because, while he hated this, he hated what could happen if he _didn't_ comply **_more_ **. His wings shuffle, curling around himself the tiniest bit as he stands before the other, nude.)

France: (He comes forward, placing his hands on the other's hips to draw him in close as Francis kisses up Arthur's neck.)

England: (Puts his hands on the other's chest, his body rigid and trembling in fear. He didn't want this. At all. Not now, not _ever_ .) _*Stop. Please stop. Don't let this be my fate, Father, please._

France: (He notices everything about the angel, glad he's found the line. Picking the angel up, Francis carries him- to the closet. There, Francis sets him down and begins dressing him, putting the angel and a short white skirt and a big, soft green sweater with a light tank underneath and cream silk panties.)  There, how is that?

England: (Forces himself to breathe calmly, nodding gratefully as he softly replies, eyes down.)  Better, sir. Thank you.

France: You're welcome.  (He pecks Arthur's head.)

England: (Accepts the short kiss without a word, looking up at the demon after a moment to hesitantly ask what's been on his mind.)  Your majesty . . what is my role to be, here in your palace?

France: In my court, you are my quiet little pet who will just be there to look pretty. As for here, in private, . . a companion. What sort of companion you will be, remains to be seen.

England: (Nods.)  I understand, sir. Thank you.

France: Pfft, none of this 'sir' business. It's either 'Francis' or 'your majesty'. 'Highness' also works.

England: (Eyes go down.)  Forgive me, your majesty. I'll refrain from using that title.

France: (Smiles. He'll need to work with his angel~.)  Arthur, what would you like right now? I am feeling generous.

England: _*To be free, to not be wearing these shackles, to have my Grace back- So many good choices . . ._  (He looks up at the other, requesting calmly.)  Would you be willing to remove the servus shackles from me?

France: I might within the week or three. If you are good, sooner.

England: _*I need to gain his trust._  (He nods, thinking over his options for a moment before speaking.)  Then . . I suppose I would like to get to know you better. After all, I am going to be here for a long time, am I not?

France: C'est vrai.  [That is true.] (Francis sits down on his bed, peeling off his boots.)

England: (Follows, but remains standing.)  May I ask you some questions?

France: (Taking off his stiff jacket, he motions for Arthur to go ahead.)

England: (Kindly.)  How long have you been the King of the South West?

France: A long time.

England: (Hums at the vague answer.)  It is somewhat obvious, in a good way. This city is beautiful and things appear much more . . stable, than other places I've been in Hell.

France: It has been a long work in progress.

England: I am sure it has.  . . Do you enjoy it? Ruling?

France: For the most part, but the rebellions can get a little annoying.

England: (Eyebrows furrow slightly.)  Rebellions?

France: (Raises an eyebrow.)  Sometimes the lower demons want to try their hand at ruling. They haven't succeeded yet.

England: Mm.  -- _*I wonder if it's only their selfishness and thirst for power that leads them to rebel or if there's something else._  --  That is good, at least.  (Thinks a moment.) What do enjoy most? Of anything in this realm or another.

France: My castle.  (He then smiles.) And Ardeur.

England: _*Someone close to him?_  --  Who is Ardeur, if I may ask?

France: My pet Kirin, if you would like to see her.

England: (Nods, bearing a small smile.)  That would wonderful, yes.

France: (Pulls on short boots.)  Come along~. (Francis grabs Arthur's hand, walking out with him and bringing him down to the stables.)

England: (Follows quickly, holding on tightly to Francis' hand as they go down, deeper into the castle to the stables. He smiles a bit, eager to meet this creature. As they slow down, he stays close to the demon, peering into the stalls they pass to see all manner of Hellish beasts, some rather beautiful and intriguing.)

France: (Shows Arthur to a pretty gold and orange kirin.)  This, mon petite, is Ardeur, my long-time companion.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/41565032820/in/album-72157698540033164/)

England: (Eyes widen, his hand slipping from the demon's as he ventures closer, curiously looking over the beast. 'Ardeur' was an equine-esque creature with a mane and tail of fire, the other's coat shimmering gorgeously. He speaks to the creature, tentatively offering a hand to the kirin.)  Hello, there. . . . It's wonderful to meet you, dear Ardeur.

Ardeur: (Snorts, her mane of flames curling harmlessly around the angel's hand.)

England: (Smiles, intrigued by the flames and the creature they belong to. Softly.)  I'm glad to have met you today, dear one . . .

Ardeur: (Snuffles the hand.)

France: Here.  (He holds out a sugar cube.)  Ardeur likes these, if you want to give one to her.

England: (Smiles, taking the sugar gratefully.)  Thank you, Francis. (Turns, offering the treat to Ardeur, chuckling lightly as the Kirin eats it up from his hand.)  Just wanted a little love and a little sugar, hmm?

Ardeur: (Nuzzles the angel's face happily.)

England: (Nuzzles the creature back, stroking her face and neck lovingly.)  

Ardeur: (Coos, hugging before pulling back to drink her water.)

England: (Gently.)  What a beautiful creature . . .  

France: They are native to the area, and are typically only found in the South West.

England: (Watches her happily.)  Really. . . She's such a rare and beautiful creature, isn't she?

France: Oui. She's also one of the calmest and smartest Kirins here, especially considering that the females are more violent than the males.

England: (Chuckles.)  I didn't realize that was the case. She's rather special. I can see why she means so much to you.

France: (Nods.)  I might give you one of your own someday. Maybe a Miniature Kirin.

England: (Smiles.)  Someday, perhaps. . .

France: (Looks over at Arthur.)  Would you like to see a Mini?

England: (Looks at the demon, nodding with a smile.)  Yes, please. I'd love to.

France: (Leads Arthur to another part of the castle, not too far from stables.)  There should be a nest around- ah, here it is.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/41565032300/in/album-72157698540033164/)

England: (Eyebrows furrow, looking into the nest to find- _the tiniest, most adorable creature ever._ He comes close to the nest, looking at the cute, kitty-sized Kirin within.)  Hello there, little one. I didn't expect you to be so small. . .

France: (Smiles.)  They are very adorable. There are a couple others in this nook too, if you don't want a white one.

England: (Looks at all the tiny creatures, his eyes shining at the beautiful and adorable Kirin.)  I didn't expect them to be so much _different_ from Ardeur.

France: They are unique.

England: Indeed.  (Pets a little Kirin that curiously came up to him, smiling at creature kindly and murmuring in another tongue to it, receiving chirps of sounds in response as they converse.)

France: (Sits, watching the angel and Minis interact.)

England: (After a while of speaking with them, he gives a couple of them tiny kisses, watching as they go off, being their adorable selves. He turns, looking to Francis kindly.)  Come- They'd like to be alone, now. Perhaps you could show me more of your palace?

France: (Stands.)  Come along.

England: (Falls in beside him, tentatively slipping his hand into the demon's as they walk, hoping he's not crossing any sort of line.)

France: (Smiles, taking Arthur through the halls to show the angel the tapestries.)

England: (Follows closely, exploring all the palace has to offer with a strong curiosity, wanting to learn about this place.)

France: (At a fork in the hallway, Francis stops.)  Would you rather see the gallery or the library?

England: The library, please.

France: (Leads the angel to the library, opening the tall doors for him.)

England: (Follows inside, blinking at the bright interior. His eyes widen and, looking around inside the _immense_ room, there are rows and rows of bookshelves, each ridiculously high and packed with books, and the entire room is illuminated by the large windows on the sides of the library. Like the rest of the palace, the design and decor are all elegant and tasteful, art put strategically throughout the room.)   _*This is beautiful. . ._

France: (Leads the angel further in, taking the details in.)

England: (Silent, he goes in further, walking down between two bookshelves, looking at the titles of books. He literally had everything. Books from Hell, Earth, and a select, rare few from Heaven. Some were ancient and dusty, falling apart at the binding and full of bookmarks, while other had gold embellishments and looked brand new. He could already tell that this would be his favorite place in the palace.)

France: (Lets go of Arthur.)  Walk around in here as you wish.

England: (Smiles at Francis.)  Thank you, your majesty. (Immediately disappears down another row of bookshelves, exploring the different sections of texts. He mentally noted a few titles he would have to peruse further in the future. And, for good measure, noted to get a notebook of some kind if he could. It would certainly help him record the titles down and make notes.)

France: (Grabs a poetry book, sitting in an armchair next to a fireplace to read it.)

England: (Eventually snags a thick book- an epic penned by a demon about the ancient history of Hell -and finds a comfortable place to lounge, curling up to read by the firelight. He's not far from Francis- within the other's sight -sitting on the floor happily as he actually reads and enjoys himself. While caged by the ribbons in his feathers and the shackles on his wrists, his cage was much larger than before. That alone was enough; for now.)

France: (They both read for many hours before Francis picks up Arthur, carrying him out.)

England: (Holds his book close, leaning his head acceptingly on Francis' shoulder as the demon carries him away. He looks up at the other's face, just looking curiously as he walks.)

France: We'll be taking supper in my room.

England: (Nods.)  As you wish, s- your majesty.  ( _Barely_ catches himself.)

France: (In his room, he sits Arthur down at the table before sitting across from him. Francis rests his head on his hands as he looks at the angel, unsure of  what exactly to think or expect of this creature.)

England: (His eyes cautiously flick up from time to time, curious as to why Francis continues staring at him. Is he expecting something? If so, _what?_ )

France: (Leans back when the food is brought in, diving into his bloody chicken.)

England: (The moment the food was brought in and set down, the wonderful scent of chicken wafted over him and caused his stomach to contort painfully. He hadn't eaten properly in months, merely those disgusting fruit cups and water. Hungry, but certainly not stupid, he took his time eating, finishing not even halfway through his meal. He felt bad about wasting so much food, but he knew he'd be sick if he ate any more.)

France: I am supposing he starved you. Understandable, you creatures are quite strong and beautiful in your power.

England: (Gently, eyes down.)  Indeed. I do apologize for wasting so much, I just . . I cannot eat any more.

France: (Waves his hand dismissively.)  The scraps are given to the slaves and animals; do not worry about it.

England: That is good, at least. . .  (Falls silent.)

France: (Chuckles.)  You are a cute little chenille, aren't you? I can't wait to see you as a _papillon_.

England: (Eyebrows furrow a tiny bit, mentally translating and making sense of the other. So he's a caterpillar, hrm? How odd. Softly.)  Thank you. I look forward to it as well.

France: (Sighs.)  I suppose you'll need to know the rules.

England: That would be helpful, your majesty.  (Peers up at the other, curious about his rules.)

France: Obviously respect me and other demons, do not pray, do not go anywhere without an escort I have approved, do not break anything, and do not have sex or flirt with any other demon except me or someone I have approved.

England: (Nods.)  Your rules are fair enough. I doubt I will have issues with them, your majesty.

France: If you need anything, send the request to me and I will let you know if you it's acceptable.

England: (Nods.)  I will, thank you.

France: (After a servant clears their dishes away.)  Lean forward, s'il vous plait?

England: (Eyebrows furrow, but he leans forward in his seat, keeping his eyes on the other warily.)

France: (A napkin in his hand, he dabs at Arthur's mouth.)  There was meat juice at the corner of your mouth.

England: (Flushes embarrassedly, averting his eyes.)  Thank you.

France: You are welcome. Though I now wonder what you expect of _me_ , little dove.

England: (Softly.)  I do not think you want to hear my expectations.

France: But I _do._ If I did not, I wouldn’t have asked.

England: . . . I expected worse than you seem to be. A frightening master that would not be kind to me.

France: (Hums.)  I thought as much.

England: (Hesitantly.)  Though . . if it’s any consolation, I . . am currently reevaluating my expectations of you.  (Looks up at the other shyly.) If I may be honest? I'm . . not quite sure what to think of you, quite yet.

France: (Smiles.)  Good. (He motions with his gaze.)  And now, let's get you back to your bed. You should rest.

England: (Nods.)  Yes, of course. (Stands, being sure to grab his book as he makes his way to the door, Francis close behind.)  Thank you for showing me the palace today, your majesty. I greatly enjoyed it.

France: I am glad.  (He walks Arthur into the angel's room.)  Oh, do you like it? Your room?

England: _*I wasn't even expecting to_ **_have_ ** _my own room._  --  Oh, yes. The room is large and elegant and . . . simply beautiful. I couldn't ask for anything better.

France: (Musingly.)  It has always been my opinion one should have a little space that they can call their own.  (Francis turns Arthur to face him, a hand atop the angel's collar bone as black spirals onto the angel's skin.)  Especially when they are tied to another.

England: (Feeling the other’s evil and invasive magic creep into him from that point, he quickly steps back from Francis and a hand immediately goes up to touch the mark that blooms even without the demon, his wings bristling defensively.) _*That son of a BITCH._ (He looks back at the other, desperate and angry, now just trying to restrain himself from saying or doing something he'll regret.)

France: (His smile is victorious.)  Your mask is good, but I knew I saw a fire. I'm glad I was able to see it on the first day. It means he didn't kill you.  (He pecks Arthur's cheek, disappearing in a flash of shadow.)

England: (Growls, shutting the door with a slam. He doesn't truly know if he's alone. The damn demon controls shadows. _Typical for Westerners._ He sets down his book a bit more aggressively than he intended, sitting down a chair, frustrated. That stupid demon marked him and, by an angel's culture? _Forced a wedding ring onto his hand._ All to test him?)   _*What an idiot!_  (He sits there for a long time, bothered by how wrong everything feels here. He can feel the demonic creatures of this realm hiding from him, _watching_. Not many knew they were there, but he did. He could see them when they made themselves known and hear them as they whisper amongst themselves. It was nerve-wracking. It took some time before he was able to get up from his chair and shuffle through the closet, eventually drawing out a . . somewhat conservative nightgown, changing before going to bed. To his surprise, it didn't take long for him to fall asleep, one hand settled over the mark on his collarbone.)


	13. Episode 13: Foxes for Foxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, listen. If any of you guys have noticed that you can't view _any_ of the reference pictures put up on this story, please comment "no pictures", even if you have nothing else to say. Seriously. It's been brought to our attention a reason why pictures might not be working and I want to check with everyone before I try something. Next week I'll probably have a set of tests at the end of the chapter, tbh, to see what ACTUALLY works. XD Let me know! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference. Any music/videos used are also for reference, and nothing we own unless stated otherwise. We own nothing.
> 
> July 12, 2018  
> 1/1

*The next day.

Demon Maid: (Comes in, cleaning while Arthur is still asleep.)

England: (Snuffles tiredly, peeking open his eyes when he hears movement in the room. Glad it isn't _Francis_ , he gently sighs, slowly getting up for the day. Essentially ignoring the demoness, he rises and goes to his wardrobe, picking something out to wear. With the dress set out, he goes to the adjoining bathroom- simply a basic facilities to have nearby -to wash up, stopping to look over the mark on his collarbone. Having been unable to see it before, his fingertips trace over the sharp edges of the design as he frowns, hating to have been marked. It was . . _beyond_ annoying.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42469290545/in/album-72157698540033164/)

England: (Eventually exits the bathroom, getting dressed before sitting in front of the vanity to brush through his hair, pinning it up onto his head in a simple manner in the end.)

Demon Maid: (Comes in with breakfast.)  Would you like breakfast in bed?

England: (Kindly.)  No, thank you. Could you set it up at the table, please?

Demon Maid: (Sets the food up at the table, stepping back.)

England: (When he's done with his hair, he goes to the table, grateful to find _tea_. Pouring himself a cup, adds a small bit of sugar, stirring it in happily. When he takes that first sip, his entire body relaxes. He was struggling without his tea, in all honesty, so this was a blessing to have. He ate a bit of his breakfast and drank another cup of tea before letting the servant take it away, relocating with a cup of tea to his bed where he sits, reading more of the book he brought from the library.)

*Through a panel in the wall, a little gold and white fox comes into the room.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/29503265328/in/album-72157698540033164/)

(*He also has blue eyes in this form*)

England: (Peers over his book at the movement, his eyebrows lifting at the sight of the fox entering. At the creature's coloration, a hand goes up to brush against the mark on his collar, knowing exactly who it was.)  I didn't know you could shape-shift.

France: (His tail twitches, giving Arthur a lazy blink as he comes over, jumping up to sit on the top of Arthur's chair.)

England: (Watches from his spot on the bed, bookmarking his page and setting it to the side.)   _*Such a curious form, however fitting it may be._  (Gently to the other.)  You may join me, if you like. I don't mind.

France: (His ear twitches, warily watching the angel as he hops onto the bed, a few feet away.)

England: (Watches the other right back, rather unafraid to look Francis in the eye while he's in this form. Like he doesn't need to be formal, even if it's for a short while.)

France: (His tail twitching, he curls up on the bed.)

England: (After a few, long moments of watching Francis, he picks his book back up, beginning to read again, silently.)

France: (Scoots closer, peering at the page.)

England: (Tilts the book towards Francis so he can read better, continuing to read down the page.)

France: (Reads, nudging Arthur to stop from turning the page while he finishes reading through his current spot.)

England: (Smiles the tiniest bit, waiting before turning that page and reading on with the demon.)

France: (After awhile, Francis gets up and grabs a towelette, using that and dipping it in a wash basin before bringing it back to Arthur. He had noticed that the angel had been starting to get a little warm.)

England: (Watches the other curiously, his head quirking slightly when the other returns. When Francis insists he take it, he does, instantly noticing how much _cooler_ it was. He dabs at his face and neck, sighing as the water cools him down.)  Ah, thank you. I didn't quite realize how much I needed that . . .

France: (Nods, then grooming his tail with an amused gleam in his eyes.)

England: (Folds the cloth up, putting it on his face as he sits back and relaxes, letting the heat drain from his face.)

France: (Twitches the tip of his tail across Arthur's face to get his attention before hopping off of the bed.)

England: (Lifts the cloth, looking to Francis.)  Would you like me to follow you, your majesty?

France: (Gives Arthur an expectant look, motioning the angel over with his tail.)

England: (Rises, setting the book and cloth to the side at he follows the demon.)

France: (Leads Arthur over to the bath, going over to the spout and nudging the handle to adjust the temperature.)

England: (Sits on the edge of the bath, tentatively feeling the water to find it much cooler than before. He smiles, removing his shoes to slip his feet into the running water to cool off and relax.)

France: (Butts his head into the middle of Arthur's back, pushing him into the tub.)

England: (Gasps, thrown a little off balance by the unexpected head-butt as he slips into the tub. He huffs, sitting in the cool water and looking at Francis as he quirks an eyebrow.)  Satisfied?

France: (Nods, his tail curling around his feet as he sits.)

England: (Sighs, just sitting and relaxing. He eventually turns off the water, glad just to sit and cool off. Hell really was _far_ too hot for his tastes.)

France: (Just sits, looking like a statue.)

England: (Watches the other, meeting his eyes and just . . watching the odd demon. Softly, after a long bout of silence.)  You really are a strange one, aren't you, your majesty.

France: (Blinks, nonplussed.)

England: (A small, almost imperceptible smirk goes across his lips for a moment before he lets the tub drain and rises, leaning over to grab a towel. He dries what he can before stepping out and removing the wet clothing, his wings curling around himself to conceal his nude form as he dries off the rest of the way and wraps the towel around his waist, going out to redress himself, flicking the water from his wingtips.)

France: (Walks out of the bathroom.)

England: (Adjusts his skirt a bit and makes sure he looks alright after his little dip in the tub before looking to the little fox padding out of the bathroom. Arthur walks up to him and sinks down, curiously looking at Francis, suddenly wondering. _Why was Francis called the Fox of_ **_Sparks_ ** _?_ )

France: (Goes down the hall, taking a turn and going into an art gallery.)

England: (Quickly follows, padding cautiously into the art gallery, fascinated by the pieces exhibited around him.)

France: (Hangs out particularly around the stained glass windows.)

England: (Explores a little, watching Francis as well. Noticing how he stays near the stained glass windows, he pads over, looking over the magnificent glass art. He knows the demon wants him to see something in particular, but . . he just doesn't understand what yet.)

France: (Transforms, going back to a humanoid shape, still just looking at the glass.)

England: (Folds his hands, his training kicking in to be more polite around the other. Gently.)  Is there something in particular you wish me to notice, your majesty?

France: No. I just wanted you to see more of my castle. It is your home.

England: . . . Indeed it is.  (Looks out the window, peering out onto part of the palace and, beyond that, the city around them. He doesn't feel like this is home. It's not home. It's not Heaven. He isn't _free_.)

France: (Pats the top of Arthur's head.)  Easy there.

England: (Forces himself to relax, a thumb rubbing over his clasped hands.)  I am fine.

France: (Chuckles, abruptly pulling Arthur into a hug.)

England: (Eyes widen in surprise as he's pulled into the hug, simply standing there and allowing himself to be hugged. _He sure was a touchy-feeling demon, wasn't he?_ )

France: Tres mignon~.

England: _*I am not cute, you idiot._  (Quietly huffs.)

France: (Kisses Arthur's neck.)

England: (Keeps his head down, eyes shut stubbornly as he's kissed, but he remains silent.)

France: (Mischievously nibbles on Arthur's neck.)

England: (Gently presses his hands against the other's chest, leaning the tiniest bit away while hoping the demon just _stops,_ hating the feeling of intrusion and disrespect-)

France: (Gently grips Arthur's neck with his teeth.)

England: (Freezes, his thin, pale fingers trembling against the demon's broad chest. He was beyond terrified. He couldn't protect himself against the king, who had paid for the right to do whatever he wanted to the angel.)

France: (Comfortingly purrs, unmoving.)

England: (Breathes, trying to calm his frantic heart and still his hands. His mind went back to his failsafe, his invented lover, using the tactics he learned in training to try and make the best of the situation. His hands slide up the other's chest and loop around the back of Francis' neck, bringing himself closer to the demon, his eyes closed as he tries to _escape._ )

France: (After a few moments, he lets go, though he keeps Arthur in his arms.)  Open your mouth, s'il vous plait?

England: (He opens his eyes and hesitantly, but obediently, does as the other orders, watching the demon warily.)

France: (Pops a sweet in Arthur's mouth.)  There you go.

England: (Is mentally disgusted, but eats the sweet anyway.)   _*He's literally giving me treats for good behavior. He does know that I'm an angel and not a dog, correct?_  (Swallowing the treat, his fingers gently twine into the other's soft hair, looking directly into his bright eyes. If he was being tested constantly, why shouldn't he toe his own boundaries a little?)

France: (Purrs, a content cat.)

England: (Watches the other for several long moments before leaning up, leaving a light, chaste kiss on the other's lips before drawing away.)   _*Be content. Leave me alone._

France: (Squees, squeezing Arthur in a tight, loving hug.)  Cute!!

England: (Is actually surprised to feel a little _love_ from the other, automatically wrapping his arms around the demon gently to absorb more of it, letting his body feed off what it desires most to heal, his heart aching at the feeling and the personal betrayal surrounding it.)

France: You are very cute, little angel.

England: (Gently.)  I cannot say I see it, but I will take your word for it, your majesty.

France: Because you see the world with shaded eyes.

England: (Eyebrows furrow slightly, looking up at the other curiously.)  Meaning what exactly, in your view?

France: You have trouble seeing the light.  (He tosses his hair.) _Duh_.

England: (Huffs.)  It's better to go in with low, dark expectations than to be disappointed.

France: Why not 'no' expectations?

England: (A little softer.)  I've been here too long to _not_ have expectations.

France: (Flirtatiously, with a side of humor.)  Oh? Then should I fulfil these _dark_ expectations?

England: (Huffs, unamused by the other’s attempt at humor.)  No, thank you.

France: (Mock-pouts.)  No riding crops?

England: (Blushes.)  N-no. No riding crops.  -- _*Why is he trying to be funny about it?_

France: That is too bad . . I am quite skilled.

England: (Frowns.)  Would you _stop_ that, please?

France: (Innocently.)  Stop what?

England: _That!_ Your innocent attitude that is just sly and simply _ridiculous_.

France: (Pouts, giving the angel sad eyes.)  I cannot be myself around you?

England: (Quirks an eyebrow.)  Perhaps that is why they call you _le renard._  [the fox]

France: (Noncommittally.)  Perhaps, but maybe not.

England: (Smirks a tiny bit.)  Another reason add to it? My, my . . . I have much to learn about you, it seems.

France: (Softly, looking into Arthur's eyes.)  And I, you.

England: (Meets the gaze, replying in the same tone, but he is more fearful of the look in the other’s eyes.)  Indeed.

France: (Smiles gently.)  I feel you will continue to surprise me, little angel.

England: (Lightly blushes, looking away embarrassedly for a moment before meeting his eyes and hesitantly speaking, soft and tentative.)  You confuse me.

France: (He pulls Arthur into his arms, kissing the angel’s forehead before murmuring.)  Hell is not all bad, Arthur. I hope you come to see that the more you live here.

England: (Allows himself to lean into the other, taking the affection.)  I do as well. . . (The two stay there in silence for a little while before Arthur has to pull away, overheating as he lightly fans himself.)  Forgive me, I’m just far too warm. (Apologetic smile.)

France: Oh, here-  (Cups the other’s face in his hands, the hands slowly brushing down the angel’s neck and shoulders, all the while pulling out the excess heat that was making Arthur so uncomfortable. He smiles.)  There, is that any better?

England: (Sighs happily, glad to be cooled off. He looks at the other curiously.)  How did you . . ?

France: (Chuckles.)  Part of my pyrokinesis. I can pull heat from objects and people. I am not very good at it, unfortunately, but soon I’ll be getting you something to protect you from the majority of the heat around here. It will surely help you in our weather.

England: (Softly smiles, glad the other was willing to get him such a thing.)  Thank you. I do appreciate it, Francis.

France: (Grins, his tail flicking happily as he pulls the angel into his arms with a tiny squee.)   _How_ are you so _cute~?_

England: (Quietly laughs, wrapping his arms lightly around the demon. He was such a . . _strange_ demon. He was kind and genuine and . . . so much different than everyone else. Was this truly his life?)   _*Did . . did I get lucky too?_

France: (Softly.)  What do you enjoy the most, mon cher?

England: (Hums, thinking for a moment before answering.)  I enjoy . . creating. Reading and writing, more so than anything.

France: (Smiles.)  I suspected so by the way your eyes lit up in the library the other day. You ran off with the most beautiful look in your eyes.

England: (Blushes, hiding his face. _How embarrassing . . .)_

France: (Chuckles, scooping Arthur up into his arms.)  Come now, it was cute . . .

England: (Covers his face, shaking his head.)   _No,_ that was utterly _embarrassing_. . .  

France: (Outright laughs, walking out of the gallery.)  You were happy and excited.

England: (Huffs, not saying anything in reply.)

France: (Smiles, kissing the other’s forehead sweetly.)  There, there.

England: (Remains silent, somewhat coming to a horrible realization: He was just accepting this. _Why_ was he _accepting_ this? Sure, it may not be as bad as being under Ryszard’s control, but it still wasn’t _right._ He didn’t belong here. He belonged in Heaven where he was _free._ )

France: (Can feel the other’s heart beating rapidly, in an almost panicked way, and is about to say something when his gold bangle warms at his wrist, alerting him of some commotion just outside the palace. He frowns, setting Arthur down in the hallway.)  Cermaka. (When the demoness arrives, he speaks to her, eyes and tone hard and serious.) Take Arthur to his chambers and make sure no one comes down that hallway besides myself. Understood?

Czech Republic: (Nods sharply, taking the angel’s hand.)

England: (Pulls back stubbornly, looking to Francis.)  What’s happening?

France: Nothing to be worried about. Follow Cermaka. She will keep you safe.  (Swiftly turns on his heel, slipping into the shadows as he barrels down the hallway.)

England: (Eyebrows furrow, following the demoness at her insistent tugging, the two rapidly returning to his chambers.)

Czech Republic: (Opens the door and gestures him inside.)  Go in. If you feel unsafe, call for me.

England: (Tentatively nods, going inside and shutting the door. He pads quickly to his windows, pulling a chair over to stand up on them to get a better view. Outside, only the glimpse of action could be seen outside the gates. Demons were gathering, angry and full of malice. Why, he did not understand. What he did understand, however, was that he must be in some sort of danger for Francis to be so cautious. Were they were because of him? Oh, how he wanted to fly away. Fly far away from here and be safe again. He suddenly itched to pull and yank out the ribbons binding his feathers, holding him hostage on the ground, as well as the shackles that bound his body and the tracer- that stupid, fucking _tracer_ -that bound his being to Francis.

 _Francis._ His enemy and his protector. The one who possessed his body and had the audacity to be kind and act like his friend. That demon wasn’t a friend. He felt absolutely disgusted with himself for being so accepting of the other’s kindness and love. Was it love? How could it truly be _love-_ Arthur had only been here for _two days!_

Annoyed, he glanced out the window once more to see demons dissipating and fleeing in the presence of a fearsome looking fox-creature that snarled and whipped its wings and tail at the rebels. He didn’t want to ever encounter that creature personally. He would most likely die, by the looks of it.

Stepping away from the window, he sat down at the desk in his room and rummaged through the drawers to find pencil and paper- lots of paper, thank heavens -as well as several other items within. None were too potentially dangerous besides the pencil, but killing Francis wasn’t what was on his mind. Catharsis was on his mind. Relaxing and escaping this wretched realm to a place within his mind, the only safe-haven he could now go to. And he wrote. For hours, it seemed, writing down everything that came to mind- poetry, words that had little meaning, his thoughts -many of which he burned not long after creating them. (He just didn’t want them to be read again, by Francis, the servants, or himself. They made him far too vulnerable for his tastes.)

When this creation and destruction trend ended, he ended up sitting in bed and reading, not even noticing when the demoness from before enters his room.)

Czech Republic: (Gently, as to not scare the angel.)  My lady, have you eaten? It’s getting quite late.

England: (Is still the tiniest bit startled, looking up at her. Blinking, he realized it was already early in the evening and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It didn’t horribly bother him- he was used to it -but he did quickly come to the realization that he would need to remember to eat again.)  No, I have not. It . . slipped my mind.

Czech Republic: I was beginning to wonder. Is there anything in particular you’d like, my lady?

England: . . Soup, please. And tea, if you can.

Czech Republic: (Bows, leaving. She comes back within ten minutes of the request with chicken dumpling soup, complete with bread and crackers to help the bony angel gain weight, and tea as well. She sets everything up, looking to Arthur.)  Is there anything else, my lady?

England: (Rises, coming over to the table.)  Yes, a rather simple question. . . May I call you Cermaka?

Czech Republic: (Smiles.)  Yes, my lady, you may. I honestly do prefer it, especially since we’ll be spending a lot of time together.

England: (Looks curiously at the other.)  Oh? Why’s that?

Czech Republic: I am to be your handmaiden and personal guard, all rolled into one. I am here to assist you when his majesty is unable.

England: (Eyebrows furrow.)  Curious, how you insinuated that Francis is here to assist me and not the other way around.

Czech Republic: (Her green eyes sparkle, her lips still neutral.)  I spoke correctly, for that is what his majesty relayed to me. He is quite fond of you, and wants you to be happy here.

England: (He absently rubs at the shackles on his wrists, doubtful of that statement.)  You make assumptions, Cermaka.

Czech Republic: Not to argue, but I do not. He has expressed his fondness to me, especially when he told me to keep you from harm. Though, I almost doubt you would believe me, no matter the proof. You are skeptical of people and their feelings.  (Bows, turning and starting out.) Enjoy your meal, my lady.

England: (Frowns, sitting down to slowly eat his meal and read at the table, his mind flitting to the demoness’ words. Surely, she was just toying with him, right? It all simply bothered him. After the meal, he changes and settles back into bed to read for a while before curling up to sleep, turning out the lights.)

 

_*In Arthur’s dreams. . . The angel sat up in bed, looking around in confusion. Everything was silent and dark, as if it were the middle of the night, but there was light coming from just underneath his door from the hallway. Figures passed through the light, casting shadows onto Arthur’s floor as whispers slowly crept into the room, surrounding him._

_‘He looks delicious,’ some said._

_‘How precious!’ others chimed, coming even closer._

_Arthur scooted back against the headboard, terrified as the whispers grew louder and louder around him, choking out his voice, making him unable to call out or scream. When something grabbed his ankle, he was ripped from the nightmare, a scream tearing out of his lungs._

England: (Sits straight up in bed, his wings bushing up defensively as the door whips open, the angel backing up even farther in fear.)

France: (Having been sitting outside the door- rebellions could be quite worrisome, so he wanted to personally stay near Arthur to keep him safe -he burst into the room at the other’s scream, just standing there a moment to scan the room, only seeing the frightened angel. Arthur’s eyes were wide and almost unseeing, his chest heaving as his panic grew.)   _*Was it a nightmare?_  (Gently, coming in a few steps.)  Arthur?

England: (Scrambles back, off the bed as he kept distance between him and the demon as he trembled, _still being able to hear those damned_ **_voices._ ** )

France: (He keeps his wings low and unthreatening, turning up the lights in the room as he approaches the angel.)  Come now, mon cher . . . You’re safe, I promise. (As Arthur tries to dart past him, he pulls the angel into his arms, struggling against the violent creature.)   _Be stable,_ Arthur . . .

England: (Cries out, thrashing as tries to get towards the light, just wanting it to be _silent._ Frantically.)  Stop, _please!_ Let me _go!_

France: _Prohibere. Audire nihil._ [Stop. Hear nothing.]

England: (Gasps as his body is forced to be stock-still, his eyes widening when everything goes silent. He stops fighting, letting out a quiet sigh as he lets the freedom of it wash over him. Still, from the shadows, can he see the _eyes,_ glowing maliciously, but as the lights in the room are turned up, they shrink away, leaving the angel and his demon alone in the night.)

France: (Feeling Arthur relax against the command, he nods to himself knowingly. _The whispers._ Antonio had warned him about that. He gently releases the angel’s physical bonds, but keeps Arthur deaf for a little while longer, scooping up the creature before walking out the door. He goes to his own room with Arthur, planning on keeping him safe from anything and everything.)

England: (Holds onto Francis, his head resting tiredly on the demon’s shoulder. He knew that all the whispers were gone, for he could no longer feel their evil presence, and Arthur wondered if Francis was the cause of that. They kept away from the demon king, almost afraid of him. That made _him_ safe, so long as he was with Francis. Because of that, he didn’t quite mind when the demon took him back to his own quarters. He wanted to be safe.)

France: (Gently lays Arthur down on the bed, kissing his cheek sweetly before joining him, pulling the angel close to him.)

England: (Breath hitches, suddenly _very_ aware that he’s close to the demon, _in the demon’s bed._ He lies there several long moments, noting that Francis wasn’t advancing on him. He was just . . . there. Tentatively, he turns over, looking up at the other. He taps his ear, signalling that he’d like to be able to hear.)

France: (Softly.)   _Relevo._  [Release.]  (He reaches up, brushing Arthur’s hair from his face before speaking quietly.)  Are you alright?

England: (Nods, speaking just as softly.)  Thank you for your help, Francis.

France: (Gently smiles.)  I’m here to help, mon petite.

England: (Recalls Cermaka’s words from before, averting his eyes.)  I’m sure.

France: . . . You do not believe me, do you.

England: . . .  (Softly.) No.

France: (Gently pets through Arthur’s hair.)  Why?

England: (Doesn’t look up, responding just as quietly, being completely honest.)  Because . . . -- _*Because you’re a demon._  (Drifts off, not having an answer. He shakes his head.)

France: (Knowingly.)  Ah. You do not trust me.

England: . . . No.

France: Arthur, may I tell you a secret?

England: (Tentatively looks up, listening.)

France: (Meets the angel’s eyes.)  I will always protect you, mon petite. No matter what the cost. You’re important to me.

England: (Eyes harden minutely, staring the demon down.)  Important how? All I am is an angel. You barely know me.

France: (He doesn't react to the underlying anger, simply replying in a cold tone.)  Because you are mine, and I will not allow anyone, not even yourself, to break you.

England: (Was ready to snap back angrily, but Francis’ words make him falter. He frowns.)  I may be yours by law, but you don’t know me. And I- (Pushes out of the other’s arms, getting off the bed, only to be pulled back and pinned down. Snarls, pushing the other off weakly.)  Let me **go!**

France: (Keeps the other down, eyebrows furrowed.)  Why are you acting like this, Arthur? Why are you letting your pride drag you around?

England: I _said-_ (Growls.)   _-get_ **_OFF_ ** _ME!_  (Reels back, kicking the demon back and beating at him with his wings. He was damned no matter what, but he would _not_ just accept this life of servitude. He _wouldn’t._ )

France: ( _ROARS,_ grabbing Arthur wrists tightly, his own wings beating down the angels’ as he pins the large, feathered appendages down on the mattress. Even as Arthur struggles, he simply uses his body weight to pin down the angel, staring him down.)

England: (Stares back, fire in his eyes as he struggles.)   _Get OFF me._

France: (A growl rumbles deeply in his chest, the sound menacing in the dark room. As Arthur struggles more- albeit, more weakly -he leans down and latches onto the angel’s neck, growling louder.)

England: (Cries out, snarling as he bites down on the demon’s flesh, not getting a good enough grip as Francis whips away to protect himself. Blood dripping down his neck, he growls aggressively, determined to protect himself.)

France: (Lowly.)  Arthur, your pride is not something that will get you far in this realm. _Especially_ not with me.

England: (Darkly.)  At least I’d still belong to myself.

France: _Pride is what made the first angels die. Do you want to die?_

England: (Stares back into Francis’ eyes, answering without hesitation.)  Yes.

France: You’d rather _die_ than live a peaceful life by my side? Your pride _poisons_ you.

England: (Weakly.)  I’d rather die free in my heart than live life as a king’s pet.

France: (Sighs, shaking his head as he releases Arthur and gets off him.)  

England: (Watches him back off before rolling up and getting off the bed, his wings curling around himself. He hugs his arms close, avoiding meeting the demon’s judgmental gaze. Softly.)  May I return to my room? Please?

France: (Disappointed, he gestures for the other to go.)  Oui. Return to your room.

England: (Hesitantly departs, padding out of the room and returning to his own quickly. He shuts the door and leans against it, just a bit shaken from that whole encounter. He knew he had made a mistake, especially by _kicking_ the demon king- hell, that was the biggest mistake of all -but he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry for what he had said and done. He was defending his freedom in a, albeit, very _stupid_ way.

The angel washed the blood from his neck and returned to his bed, curling up and covering himself with his wings and the soft blanket he had grabbed, just trying to go back to sleep.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you see the two pictures? Comment below!


	14. Episode 14: A Menagerie for a Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fun~! 
> 
> Important announcements in the end note!!!
> 
> July 18, 2018  
> 1/1

**** *The next few days were quiet, Francis simply not coming to see Arthur. In that time, the angel wrote. Pages and pages, each one either full of anger or desperation. He wanted to be free. To have his Grace and sword, these damned shackles removed from his wrists and neck. Whether or not he was released was another story, but as long as the angel was in control of himself, he would be content enough. It was the fourth day before Francis came. 

 

England: (Sits at his desk, writing, when he heard knocking. Alarmed, he quickly grabs the papers and hurries to hide or destroy them, calling out.)  Who is it?

France: (From the other side of the door, he answers.)  Francis. May I come in? 

England: (Heart leaps in panic, hiding the papers under his mattress.)  One moment! I’m getting dressed! (He takes a deep, calming breath and undoes his hair, putting it back up again to make his lie more believable.)  Come in! 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42577881345/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Waits a beat before opening up the door, a pleasant smile on his face.)  You look lovely, mon petite.

England: (Lightly blushes, frowning.)  Thank you, your majesty. --  _ *Fuck off, wanker. _

France:  _ *Still inwardly rebellious. . . What will it take for you to crack today?  _  (Kindly.)  De rien. Will you join me for a walk? I wish to show you more of the palace. 

England: (Nods, slipping on a pair of flats before lightly padding to the demon, taking the proffered arm. The two are silent for some while, neither wanting to speak of what previously transpired between them.) 

France: (Gently, trying to start a conversation.)  I do believe you’ll enjoy the menagerie here. It’s quite the place to behold.

England: (Frowns.)  Enjoy a large cage of exotic creatures?

France: (Laughs.)  Non. It is . . . indescribable, but I do assure you that it is not a  _ zoo. _

England: (The frown fades, looking up at Francis in confusion. He’s about to ask when they stop in front of a large ornate glass door. The glass was colored with multiple hues of blue and orange, the inner pieces set together with gold, but the outer frame of the door was white. The handle was a curved piece of gold, the same quality as that within the door itself. Honestly, it was absolutely gorgeous, and Arthur couldn’t wait to see what was behind the glowing panes of glass.)

France: (Leans down, murmuring in Arthur’s ear, causing the angel to jump slightly.)  Close your eyes?

England: (Hesitantly does as he’s asked, briefly feeling the gentle press of lips against the exposed skin of his neck before the demon leads him in. When they stop, he hears the click of the door and the chirping of birds.) 

France: (Gently places his hands on Arthur’s upper arms, speaking softly.)  Welcome to the Gold Garden. 

England: (Opens his eyes, blinking as they adjust to the amount of light in the menagerie. When he is able to see the absolutely immense structure, his breath hitches, instantly realizing the reason behind the name. Along the main path were gold-stemmed ruby roses that moved just like any other rose would. The cobblestone path was lined with flowers like them and, beyond, were large, grassy meadows with wildflowers that dotted the sea of green. At the end of the main path was a round pavilion, painted light blue with gold accents, all trimmed in a beautiful and pristine white. 

Beyond the immediate surroundings were large, dark trees- a forest within the menagerie -and, in another area, farming space with fields and a large barn, animals roaming around it. All of this was encased in the glass walls and dome above to let in the golden-red glow of the Hellsun.)  . . . Holy  _ shit. _  (He instantly flinches, regretting letting those embarrassing words out, his mind going back to punishments from Ryszard for his language.) 

France: (Gently rubs the other’s tense shoulders, laughing heartily and with benevolence.)  Oui, it is quite striking, isn’t it? (Gently, to comfort the other.) Enough to make even the best of us lose our words. 

England: (Blushes heavily, quickly apologising.)  Forgive me, please. I don’t usually-

France: (Puts up a hand.)  You needn’t worry about it, mon petit. I know what you meant. 

England: (Bows his head slightly.)  Thank you, your majesty. 

France: (Hums, smiling as he leads Arthur farther in.)  I suppose it’s pointless to ask if you like it, so: What do you think of all this? 

England: (Still in awe over everything, he gently replies.)  It’s absolutely spectacular. What I imagined . . . it was nothing even  _ remotely _ close to what it really is. It’s . . . like being home. Or in the human realm, Earth. 

France: Indeed. Its beauty is only comparable to the menagerie in the South capital. My brother truly went above and beyond when bringing his together.  (Smiles fondly.) 

England: (Nods.)  I recall hearing that you are related to the South king.

France: Oui. I am related to several of the kings, in fact. Gilbert, in the North West; our neighbor in the West, Ludwig; Antonio in the South; and Joao to the South East. Out of all of us, I am the eldest. 

England:  _ *Sounds like my brothers. . .  _  --  A big family. 

France: (Snorts.)  Our father loved his consorts and wives. We used to have more siblings.

England: (Eyes slightly widen, speaking softly.)  They passed away. 

France: Passed away, murdered, abandoned, ran away- they left us in several different ways. 

England: (Falls silent, simply coming closer to hold Francis’ hand, keeping his eyes down. He couldn’t imagine losing his brothers. He already lost his mother, he couldn’t lose his siblings too.)  

France: (Gently kisses Arthur’s head.)  Je suis desole. I did not mean to bring to bring down the mood like that. 

England: (Gently.)  I couldn’t imagine losing that many siblings. 

France: . . . It’s one of those things you just have to deal with. Try to make life what would’ve made them happy. A world for everyone. 

England: (Looks up at Francis.  _ He meant someone in particular. _ )  . . . Tell me about them? The sibling you’re thinking of. 

France: (Eyes widen.)  How-? 

England: (Gently cuts off.)  Your face. And the way you spoke of their dreams. It’s really quite obvious.

France: (Smiles.)  . . . Her name was Aria. She was the second-oldest of the children that survived and stayed during the rebuilding of Hell. She was a scholar and a teacher, the best pyrokinetic our world had ever seen. She mixed techniques and types of magic to master her fire like no other.  (Takes a breath.) When my brothers and I rose to power in our kingdoms, she acted as an advisor and mediator among the kings. (Eyes darken slightly.) It was what got her killed. War was about to break out between my kingdom- this kingdom -and the West, back when a bastard was running the region.  (Is silent.) 

England: (Eyes widen.  _ She got killed . . . because of Francis? _ )  I see. 

France: (Draws Arthur in, kissing his forehead. With a hand, he gently combs through the angel’s feathers and removes the ribbons binding him to the ground.) 

England: (Tucks himself against Francis, his eyebrows furrowing when he feels a hand in his wings. He draws back a bit, surprised to see the ribbons in Francis’ hands.) 

France: (Smiles gently, taking a step back. He looks up to the open air of the menagerie, remarking.)  It looks really empty up there. . . (Smirks to Arthur.) Maybe you should go fill that space. But first-

England: (Eyes widen, catching sight of the vial- the vial of  _ his Grace _ -that Francis pulled from his pocket, holding- holding it out to  _ him? _ ) 

France: (Doesn’t move, continuing to offer it to Arthur.)  Go on, take it. I kept it this from you for long enough. 

England: (Takes the vial with great care, glancing at Francis- wondering if this was a trick -before opening it up and swallowing his Grace. The feeling of his soul reintegrating into his being was simultaneously the best sensation ever and the most unfulfilling, for he still wore the shackles that prevented him from  _ accessing _ his power, to his frustration.) 

France: (Gently smiles as he watches the angel’s wing-tips faintly glow.) 

England: (Sighs, glad to have it back- even if he can barely feel it and can’t access it. He looks at Francis, giving him a small nod of respect.)  Thank you. I do appreciate this, your- (Pause.) Francis. 

France: (Smile broadens.)  You are very welcome, Arthur. Go.

England: (His neutral expression doesn’t change as he stretches out his wings- an action he has not made since he first came to Hell -and, with a great  _ whoosh, _ takes off. He soars through the bright sky of the menagerie, reveling in the wind beneath his wings and the light bathing his form. He felt  _ free _ again.) 

France: (Smiles from the ground. He summons a servant to bring his paperwork, going to the pavilion to sit and work while Arthur flew around.) 

 

*Arthur flew without pause for hours, circling the menagerie and taking in the sights of his new sanctuary- for that’s what it was to him. This was  _ his _ space. 

 

England: (Stops, perching in a small tree within the forest to rest a few moments, his muscles weaker from underuse. Sitting there, his attention is drawn to the deeper forest. He gets up and starts walking through the dark foliage when, suddenly, he breaks through into an open clearing. In the center, curled up in the only patch of light there was, laid a large fox. By large, he meant  _ HUGE. _ It was  _ much _ larger than any creature he had ever seen, but he wasn’t frightened of her, he merely padded closer, entranced.)

Étincelle: (Lifts her head to look at the angel, he fox-ears twitching. She stands, analyzing the creature when it stops. After several long moments of silence, she snarls and lunges at the angel.) 

France: (Crashes out of the foliage in his final shift- a large, fox-like demonic creature -and puts himself between the two, snarling protectively.) 

England: (Having tripped as he scrambled backwards, he sits with wide eyes as this fox-like demonic creature stands between himself and  **_her,_ ** the creature snarling as his tail thrashes wickedly.) 

France: (Backs up, stepping over Arthur to make a statement.  _ Don’t fuck with the angel. _ ) 

Étincelle: (Tail flicks coyly, withdrawing from her threatening stance and simply sitting, her tail curling around her paws.)  

France: (Relaxes when she makes no threatening moves towards Arthur, peering down at the trembling angel with concern.) 

England: (Shrinks away when the fox-creature’s head turns to him, revealing a frightening skeletal face with glowing blue eyes. A familiar blue.)  F-Francis?

France: (Moves before laying down and curling around the angel, purring comfortingly.) 

England: (Relaxes into the soft fur, his attention returning to  _ her. _ )

Étincelle: (Comes closer, sitting down beside the two. Then? She  _ speaks _ to Arthur, the two understanding each other perfectly without moving a muscle or uttering a thing.) 

England: (Entranced, he listens to everything she has to say, knowing her age and wisdom to be true.) 

Étincelle: (Leans in and licks over Francis’ ears before glaring down at the angel with one final phrase.)   _ %If you ever hurt my adopted son, I will fuck you up, you little pious pigeon. _

England: (Shrinks, paling as he nods,  _ very _ comprehending.) 

Étincelle: (Purrs, coming closer to curl around  her son Francis and the angel, gently grooming the demon’s fur.) 

France: (Is focused on Arthur, gently nudging him with his nose, quirking his head.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/43434517822/in/dateposted-public/)

[Similar to, but clearly not exactly, this.]

England: (Looks up at him, taking in every part of the other’s features in this form from his glowing blue eyes to the dark, golden orange fur that surrounded his dark nose and horns, covering his body. His fur was a good looking coat, but i t covered a thin, near-skeletal form below, covered only in rippling muscle. Patches of scales covering his weaker points like an armor, protecting the demon. Arthur tentatively reaches up, stroking down the other’s soft face.)

France: (Purrs happily, gently pushing into the hand.)

England: (Sits there, thinking, as he strokes down the demon’s face. The things she had told him . . . some of them made him feel ill. She was good enough- she was the protector of the menagerie and formally the protector of the entire region -and she was loyal to the South West and its king, but she was  _ very _ powerful. And her  _ mother-  _ God, he didn’t even want to think about the Darkness. What she  _ does  _ to angels.) 

France: (Gently watches Arthur, noticing how dazed the other seems, staring off. He glances up at Étincelle, not sure what to do, and she simply doesn’t meet his eyes. This is  _ his _ problem.) 

England: (Sighs, leaning in to peck the tip of Francis’ nose before rising, climbing out of the cuddle pile carefully. He looks to the demonic creature and nods respectfully before turning and leaving.) 

France: (Eyes widen, getting up and shifting back to his usual form, chasing after Arthur.)  Mon petit, are you alright?

England: (Looks up at the demon, gently nodding.)  Y-yes, I just . . I’m feeling a bit ill. Forgive me, but I’d like to return to my room for a while.

France: (Nods.)  Oui. I’ll see you back.  (As they’re walking out of the menagerie, he slips his hand into Arthur’s.) 

England: (Flinches, yanking his hand away suddenly. He looks at the other in alarm and fear, hugging his arms to himself defensively.)  

France: (Softly.)  Easy, Arthur. I won’t hurt you. 

England: (Looks away, staying silent.) 

France: (Doesn’t say another word, walking with Arthur to the angel’s room. When they get there, he opens the door for Arthur, giving him a sweet look.)  If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask, mon petit. 

England: (Bows his head respectfully.)  Thank you. Until later, Francis. (Escapes into his room, shutting the door behind him.)   _ *I need to leave. I need to get out of here. How can I get out of here?  _  (Goes to his desk, sitting down anxiously as he tries to figure out how to leave. He couldn't stay here. It wasn't wise and it wasn't  _ safe. _ He had to escape. Get back to Heaven and his brothers and his work. No one was going to rescue him but himself.) 

 

*And so, Arthur sat at that desk drawing up and destroying escape plans most of the rest of the day, hiding the papers under his mattress so he wouldn't get caught. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I would like to thank those who participated in the pictures test. I now recognize that you have seen basically NONE of the pictures we have been posting and I apologize. I heard from several of you that you couldn't view them and I dismissed it because I thought it was a problem with AO3 on mobile. It was not, the pictures really just never showed up. If you are curious, I have updated every single chapter of both Wind-Tossed Feathers and As the Feathers Lightly Fall (all seasons). I'm so sorry I dismissed you all before. I should have looked further into it. 
> 
> Secondly, Wind-Tossed Feathers will only be posted once a week from now on. I (Zelda) am not super great about writing a lot, since I'm the one doing most of the writing since this is and always was my little child. (Andy has contributed far too much to not be considered a co-writer of it, which is why she is listed.) I apologize that I will not be able to personally give the same amount of content that we give for AFLF. It's simply not possible. 
> 
> The new schedule is Wednesday at 12AM US CT. [AFLF will remain Tuesdays and Thursdays at 12AM US CT.]
> 
> Thirdly and lastly, we have an official tumblr blog for all things writing and US! Mostly, as you can imagine, is AFLF and W-TF stuff, but we plan on making announcements there, posting bloopers, pictures that we found, pictures that I (Zelda) have made that may or may not be canon for the story, and more. We really hope you can join us on the platform, ask us questions and have conversations with us about our stories on this platform. 
> 
> Is there a social media platform any of you want us to spread to? We want to know where you all congregate so we can share the space with you and bring more content to you, even if it's not always written! Also, what did you guys think about Étincelle? Let us know in the comments below! 
> 
> Tumblr: [A&Z's Oeuvre](https://azoeuvre.tumblr.com)


	15. Episode 15: Death Is Not a Means to an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference. Any music/videos used are also for reference, and nothing we own unless stated otherwise. We own nothing.
> 
> July 24, 2018  
> 1/1

**** *Over the next few days, Francis tried his best to get to know Arthur, while the angel did his best to keep quiet, head down, and not make himself look suspicious as he tried harder and harder to clean up his plan to escape. He conspired with servants while Francis tried to butter him up with breakfast every morning, even returning the angel's sword to him and removing the shackles. It wasn’t until today that he finally got it all in order and figured out, and he was about to escape.

 

France: (Early in the morning, but no earlier than usual, he knocks on Arthur’s door, a tray of breakfast foods in his hands.)  Salut? Arthur? I have breakfast~. 

England: (Opens the door for Francis, beckoning him in.)  Come in, come in. (Obviously, he was having some trouble concealing his impatience to  _ leave _ . 

France: (Doesn’t even notice, coming in and setting the tray down on a small table in the room. He pulls out a chair for Arthur, waiting for him to sit before going to his own chair.)

England: (Arthur suppresses the desire to snub the demon and pull out his  _ own _ chair and sits in the chair pulled out for him, but with a semi cold expression. He unfolds his napkin and gives it a light shake before tucking it on his lap, waiting for Francis to sit and serve himself.)

France: (Easily noticing the cold and somewhat sassy expression, Francis narrows his eyes slightly, but shakes his head and sits down anyway. He grabs a few things to eat before nomming on some toast with raspberry jam. The two eat in silence, Arthur continuing his silent treatment and Francis continuing to try and be conversational near the end of their meal.)  How are you this morning, Arthur?

England: (Simply and without too much emotion.)  Fine, thank you. And yourself?

France: (Smiles.)  Well enough. I was wondering: Would you like to join me in the study today? Afterwards we can go to the menagerie.

England: (Thinks it over quickly, coming to the realization that he wouldn’t be able to get away if he went with the demon, not that he wanted to spend time with him in the  _ first _ place.)  Actually, could I just go and spend some time in the menagerie?

France: . . As you wish.  (Thinks that’s odd, but says nothing of it.)  Come see me at four, s'il vous plait.

England: (Done, the angel hums in agreement and gave a slight nod as he rose from his seat, starting towards the door.)  I shall see you later, Francis.

France: (Watches through narrowed eyes as the angel left, and then goes to his study alone, paying close attention to the tracer that wandered about the castle with Arthur as he took “the long way” to the menagerie.)

England: (Peeks into a few different rooms, trying to avoid demons wherever possible, as he looks for the demon servants that were going to help him get out. After finding said servants, he speaks to them for a small while and continues on to the menagerie, knowing Francis was watching. His plan was put in effect by two o’clock in the afternoon, barely giving him enough time for proper execution.)

France: (Immediately notices the tracer leaving the menagerie and wandering around suspiciously near the  _ exit _ of the  _ castle _ . He gets up and cuts through the castle, crossing Arthur’s path. He appears calm, but he has a bad feeling about what the angel is up to.)  Bonjour, Arthur~.

England: (Instant panic fills his mind, but Arthur’s face hardens as he slips down another walkway, using a spell to get through the wall.)

France: (Eyes narrow, Francis easily moving through the shadows to the other side and materializing in front of Arthur, speaking with a warning tone.)  Arthur . . .

England: (Thinking quickly, he draws forth his sacred blade and swings at the demon, eyes filled with fire.)

France: (Easily takes a step back out of range and summons his shadows, making them wrap around Arthur’s legs and pull him away from the demon. His own eyes hard, a cold, bright blue, Francis wraps more shadows up Arthur’s body, pinning the other's wings down and stilling him completely.)

England: (Looks around in panic, trying to summon his magic, but it’s all blocked by  _ something _ . He hisses at the demon, like a defensive cat.)

France: (Unfazed by the hissing, Francis takes a dangerous step forward, staring down the little angel.)   _ Be careful, Arthur. Even I have my limits. _

England: (Glares at the demon and tries to wrench himself out of the grip of the shadows, if only to defend himself.)   _ You too should be careful, Francis. _

France: (Prowls farther forward.)   _ Oh? _

England: (His glare deepens, wanting to rise up against the overbearing demon.)   _ Oh. _

France: The way  _ I _ see it,  _ Arthur _ , you have no access to your magic or your sword, and you are completely immobile.  _ I have nothing to be worried about. _

England: (Shifts angrily, growling.)   _ What did you do to me? _

France: (Steps forward, the demon simply slipping his hand into the shadows at Arthur’s throat and pulling against the metal binding collar he had slipped onto the angel.  _ No more magic, no more Grace. _ )

England: (His eyes widen, the panic finally slipping through.)  * _ No. No, no, not again. Not this again.   _ (He screeches at the demon, doing his best to thrash in the grip of the shadows.)   _ GET IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF, YOU BASTARD! _

France: No.  (Francis takes a step back.)  You left me no choice.

England: (Strains under the dark grip.)   _ Why won’t you just let me GO. _

France: (Those blue eyes soften slightly, looking over the desperate creature before hardening again.)   _ Because if I let you go, you will be torn apart. Or worse, someone else will get you, and they won’t nearly be as nice as I. This is for your protection. _

England: (Arthur’s eyes widen, unfortunately knowing the truth of that statement. If a demon used bindings like they have in the past, they would easily control him. Not to say that Arthur wouldn’t fight it constantly, he just wouldn’t be able to get out of it without help. He spat out stubbornly at the demon.)   _ What makes you think I  _ **_need_ ** _ your protection? _

France: (Simply gestures to the state Arthur was in, letting that be his answer.)  I warned you time and time again. I don’t take kindly to disrespect. Since you seem incapable of apologizing, perhaps some time alone will help you reflect.

England: (Mouth closed in a thin line with no intention of apologizing, Arthur glares down the demon as the shadow was unwrapped from around him, Francis latching onto his arm and dragging him back upstairs.) 

*The angel thrashes and, to deal with this, Francis’ tail wrapps around the other’s waist, pinning his feathered wings down. With nothing coming of the thrashing, Arthur tries lashing out with a fist or foot in the attempt to hit something vital. Preferably the twonk’s  _ crotch _ . Francis also deals with that easily, the angel weak in his grip.

*Dispassionately, Francis brings Arthur to his own room and, with a quick move, throws the angel to the ground on his stomach, the demon on top of him. From his pocket, the demon draws some previously spelled bindings and ties them around Arthur's primaries, the angel screeching as his final freedom was bound away. Francis nonchalantly rises and moves to stand by the door, looking down on the angel who scrambled up the moment the king was off.

France: You will get your meals, and any bathing you want will have to be a tub in here. Until you apologize, I suggest you learn to enjoy your time in solitude. It might be awhile.

England: (While his face remains a cold, angry glare, Arthur’s heart sinks knowing that he couldn’t leave and that his  _ wings were bound. _ He turns his back on Francis, stubbornly waiting for the demon to leave.)

France: (Frowns down at the angel and leaves. He has work to do and doesn’t need to wait for the stupidly stubborn creature to do a  _ thing _ . He was  _ plenty _ patient.)

England: (As soon as the demon leaves, Arthur sinks into a chair, disheartened, and holds his face in his hands. The glare melts away, it replaced by a slight scowl-- frustrated with  _ himself. Now _ how was he going to get out of this place?

Angry, Arthur tries to draw his soul from deep inside, forcing his astral form out, only to growl in frustration when he’s unable to. Trying to find peace, he sits and meditates, making a set of decisions- his vows -to conquer the situation. One: He would not speak another word to a demon. Two: He would not accept anything from said demons. Three: He would stay silent in that room for as long as he was physically able, even if it took him to death.

And so began his fasting. When a servant came to deliver his supper, he merely disposed of it and left the dishes in the same place they had been left. (The only reason he didn’t just  _ leave _ the food alone was because he didn’t want to be found out and force-fed.) When servants came to clean or do other things, he simply stayed in his chair in a meditative state.

 

* * *

 

 

*It was a week before anything different was noticed. Cermaka had been sent in to start delivering his food and take care of the angel’s baths and, in those baths every few days, she started to notice the angel getting  _ thinner _ despite all of his food being gone whenever she came to take his tray. Perplexed, she went to the king. 

Czech Republic: (Knocks on the door to the king’s study.) 

France: (From inside.)  Enter.

Czech Republic: (Comes in, bowing respectfully to the king.)  Your majesty. I’m concerned about the angel. 

France: (Looks up from his paperwork, quirking an eyebrow.)  Concerned how, exactly? 

Czech Republic: He’s getting thinner, but all of his food is gone when I come back to get his dishes.

France: (Eyebrows furrow.)  . . . The next time you take his meal to him, remain in the shadows and watch him. I want to know what he  _ actually _ does with his food. 

Czech Republic: (Nods.)   _ Ano, pane. _  [Yes sir.]  (Slips out, preparing to do just that.)

*As always, she came in at suppertime, setting down his tray and leaving promptly, only to slip into the shadows and sneak back in, watching him. After several minutes, he stood, grabbed the tray and went to the bathroom, dumping the food down the toilet and disposing of it before returning everything to the way it was, sitting back in his chair. 

Czech Republic: (Frowning, she leaves and knocks on the door of Francis’ study, entering as soon as the king allows her.) 

France: (Looks up, eyebrows furrowing. He sets down his pen, focusing on the demoness.)  Report, Cermaka.

Czech Republic: He’s dumping the food, your majesty. Not eating a single bit of it.

France: (Frowns.)  He’s starving himself, then. Do you think he’s trying to get attention for it-

Czech Republic: (Quickly cuts him off, putting up a hand.)  No, sir. I believe he’s trying to escape the only other way he can. Through death.

France: (Sighs, rubbing his face wearily.)  I feared that may have been the case. (Francis takes a breath.)  Bring him to me.

Czech Republic: (Nods, sweeping out of the room and down the hall. She knocks on Arthur’s door before entering, padding up to the angel’s chair.)  The king requests your presence in his study immediately. 

England: (Simply stands and follows, silent as always as they walk to the king’s study. Enters as requested, pale from lack of nourishment, with his hands folded in front of him as he stands silently.)

France: (Finishes his paperwork and dismisses Cermaka, looking up at Arthur before standing and coming around the desk. Kindly.)  Arthur, I have been told that you have not been eating. At all. Is this true? 

England: (Remains silent, averting his eyes.) 

France: Arthur?  (Takes a deep breath, padding closer.)  Mon petit, have you been starving yourself?

England: (Steps back, putting distance between him and the demon.) 

France:  _ Arthur. _  (Flares out his wings, backing the angel into a corner.)

England: (Flinches, panicking a bit as his chest heaves, trying to escape. Getting caught caught in Francis’ grip, he struggles against the demon.)   _ Stop! _ Leave me alone, you  _ heathen! _

France: (Holds Arthur close, speaking to him in a harsh tone.)  Why. Why have you been starving yourself? Did you think that we wouldn’t notice?  _ Realize? _

England: (Screeches, beating his wings and fists against Francis, fighting with everything his weak body has.)   **_I WANT to die!!_ **

France: (Snarls, snatching Arthur’s wrists and  _ slamming _ the angel back into the wall.)  

England: (Gasps, his head hitting the wall with a loud  _ thud _ , the angel weakly growling.) 

France:  _ Arthur- _  (Takes a calming breath.)  Death is  _ not _ the answer. This could be your home, if you gave it a chance.

England: I don’t  _ want _ to give  _ you _ or your slice of  _ Hell _ a chance!  (Pushes his wings stubbornly against the other’s, weakly trying to fight.)  

France: (Eyes darken, pressing Arthur tightly against the wall. Softly.)  I won’t let you die. (He lets go of Arthur, messaging Cermaka to bring a feeding tube. When Arthur lunges to attack him, he twists the angel around and pins the other’s limbs.) 

Czech Republic: (Comes in, quickly setting up things with the help of another servant.)  Whenever you’re ready, your majesty. 

England: (Screeches, kicking at Francis.)   **_Let me go!!!_ **

France: (Just walks Arthur to the chair, shoving him into the seat and restraining him with his shadows.)  Arthur, please don’t fight. I don’t want to cause you pain. 

England: (Snaps his mouth shut, barring entry as he stares down the three demons defiantly. He wrenches at the shadows binding him down, glaring up at Francis especially, the demon directly behind him.)  

France: (Eyes soften, gently petting through Arthur’s hair before taking hold of the angel’s head.)  Be careful with him.

*The two servants work together to pry Arthur’s mouth open and slip a device in so he can’t bite down. From there, they carefully insert the tube, the angel coughing in pain at the unwanted feeling as he’s force-fed. 

England: (Whimpers, trying to weakly wrench away, only to cough painfully around the tube in his throat.) 

France: (Holds Arthur’s head in place, staying silent as he watches the whole process, feeling the angel weaken more and more in his hands. When they’re finally done, the tube removed and a gag put in place so Arthur can’t purge himself of the food, he gently pets through the angel’s hair.) 

England: (Head bows in shame, hating being treated like this, even if he brought it upon himself with his actions. He doesn’t emote a bit as Francis pets through his hair, simply staring at the floor. It isn’t long before the shadows disappear from around him, Arthur simply sitting in a chair,  _ gagged. _ ) 

France: (Gestures the servants away, continuing to pet through Arthur’s hair before removing himself and padding to his desk, sitting down to work. Kindly.)  Remain here, s’il vous plait. You may make yourself comfortable wherever. 

England: (Waits a few moments before standing and going to the sofa, curling up in a ball of feathers on the cushions, silent.) 

*It’s almost two hours before either of them move, Francis rising to get a glass of cool water before going to Arthur’s side. 

France: (Sets down the glass of water, a hand lightly settling on Arthur’s wing as he speak gently.)  Will you come out? I’ll take off the gag if you do. 

England: . . .  (Hesitantly shifts, sitting up and drawing his wings back. He looks at Francis with an angry, pained expression, just sitting patiently.) 

France: (With gentle hands, he removes the gag and lightly rubs the angel’s jaw.)  Sore? 

England: (Smacks Francis’ hands away from his face, glaring the at the demon.)   _ Don’t-  _  (Breaks down coughing, holding his throat in pain.)  

France: (Eyebrows furrow, gently setting a hand on the other's elbow.)  Take it easy, mon petit. It's best not to speak. 

England: (Wrenches away, angry and in pain. He grinds out, despite his weak and broken voice.)   _ D-don't  _ **_touch_ ** _ me-   _ (Coughs more, moving away from the demon.) 

France: (Sighs, getting up to sit on a footstool nearby. In that time, the angel moves to the far end of the sofa, glaring darkly back at Francis. Maintaining eye contact, he nods to the glass on the end table, right behind Arthur.)  Drink. It'll help soothe your throat. 

England: (Glares, not moving a bit. He stares down the other, surprised that the demon is so calm during this.)   _ *Die.  _

France: (His expression is soft and regretful, his tail swaying lightly. He really does want Arthur to be happy, but it’s harder and harder when all the angel wants to do is fight and escape, in whatever way he has to. Softly.)  Drink. Please, Arthur. 

England: (Curls up, still glaring, and eventually looks away, hiding in his ball without drinking a bit from the glass.) 

France: (Frowns, getting up after a couple of moments to sit beside Arthur. Immediately, the angel begins smacking and pushing away the demon with his wings, growling weakly. Francis growls deeply back, snatching the other’s wrists and hovering above with a dark expression as he presses the other’s wings down.) 

England: (Winces, weakly trying to press back before cowing, submitting to the other in fear. His eyes close, his heart pounding in his thin chest as his hands shake in the other’s grip.) 

France: (Looks down at the other, his growl fading off, and watches the other tremble and submit fearfully. Arthur was so afraid of him. Softly, he murmurs to the other.)  Fight me and I’ll put the shackles back on. Understood? 

England: . . .  (Minutely nods, quietly whimpering.) 

France: Bon.  (Carefully releases the other and pulls Arthur into a seated position, the other appearing uncomfortable in a multitude of ways. The way his hands were clasped, how his wings shifted every little while, his eyes, trained downward, flitted up to the demon’s hands from time to time. He was cautious. He leans over and grabs the glass of water, holding it out to Arthur.)  Drink. 

England: . . .  (Softly shakes his head, shrinking further down.) 

France: Arthur.  (No answer.) Arthur, drink the water. 

England: (Softly.)  Please, don’t . . . 

France: (Doesn’t say a word, setting down the glass before he stands and walks to his desk, fully intending on getting the shackles. When he pulls them out, he looks up, a bit surprised. Arthur, drinking tentatively from the glass.  _ His terms.  _ He puts the shackles back away, just watching the other from a distance.)   _ *That’s all it took. Stepping away and letting him take control of himself. He just needs a little guidance so he doesn’t kill himself. _

England: (Tries to drink, the cool liquid burning his raw throat, forcing himself to swallow before coughing, wincing in pain as he tries to just  _ not cough, _ somewhat failing.) 

France: (Eyebrows furrow, carefully coming closer before sitting a short distance from Arthur- giving him space, yet staying close. Gently.)  Will you let me heal you? 

England: (Blinks up at the other, silent. After a few short moments, and a couple of pitiful coughs, he nods.) 

France: (Reaches up, gently brushing his hand down the other’s throat, force-healing the angel. He’s almost halfway finished when Arthur sways in his seat, Francis holding him close so he doesn’t fall. Worried, he brushes through the other’s hair, the angel unconscious in his arms.)   _ *He’s so  _ **_weak._ ** _ So exhausted and pale.  _  (He doesn’t finish healing the other, not wanting to kill him, and gently lays the other down, getting a soft pillow and blanket for the other to relax with. After getting Arthur comfortable, he pulls up a chair and sits, gently petting through the other’s hair until he drifts off, falling asleep in the chair.) 

 

* * *

 

 

*It’s a couple hours before Arthur wakes up, the angel shifting drowsily on the comfortable couch. 

England: (Blinks awake, shifting to feel something large and warm in his hair. Looking up, he sees Francis asleep beside him, the demon calm and relaxed. His hair had fallen a bit into his face, the soft rise and fall of his breath the only thing assuring Arthur that he was only asleep. The angel gently shifts Francis’ hand from his hair, carefully sitting up. He watches the other for a couple of minutes before standing, quiet as a mouse, and draping the soft, warm blanket over the demon’s chest and lap. The angel is especially careful not to wake him, just wanting to make him more comfortable and slip out, doing so silently.) 

France: (Shifts a bit, waking to the sound of rustling wings behind him. He blinks awake, suddenly aware of the blanket over him- the same blanket he had given to Arthur -and the angel gone from the couch. Hearing a light, but dull thump, Francis speaks calmly, turning in his seat.)  Arthur? 

England: (Takes a deep breath, forcing himself to his feet before Francis sees him. He had almost made it to the door when he started to faint, sinking to the floor so he wouldn’t hurt himself. It’s not like he’s trying to escape like before, he just wants to go to his own room. Shakily.)  . . . Ye-yes, your majesty? 

France: (Eyebrows furrow at the other’s trembling form, easily noticing how unsteady Arthur looked on his feet. He instantly gets up, walking to the other.)  You fell? 

England: (Doesn’t look up, just trying to breathe and stay on his feet, steadying himself on the table.)  N-no. 

France: (Softly.)  Arthur. 

England: (Stays silent.)   _ *Let me go, please. _

France: (Gently scoops Arthur up, holding the angel close. Gently.)  Where were you going? 

England: (Quiet.)  My room. 

France: (Nods, slipping out the door with the angel, padding down the hall to Arthur’s room. He opens the door and passes through with ease, carefully lowering the angel onto his bed and softly kissing the other’s forehead before pulling away.)  Rest. I’ll come for you in the morning.

England: (Nods, keeping his head down.)  Yes, your majesty. 

France: (Hums.)  Sleep well, mon petit.  (Leaves, returning to his room, worried about the angel.) 

England: (Covers his face after the other is gone, silently crying in the dark. He draws his wings around himself protectively, hoping he’s saved- by God, another angel, a demon, or death, he no longer cared. He just wanted to be free of this horrible Hell.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, we're finally getting down to a pretty big reveal- one that's pretty obvious if you tally up everything and analyze Arthur's behavior, but not completely noticeable -and maybe, just maybe? things will get better for my little angelic child. Who knows. We will see!   
> :D


	16. Episode 16: Shatter the Glass and Free the Slave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Time got away from me and I was tired. Sorry, sorry, sorry. 
> 
> Also, today's my birthday?? Lordy, how time flies. XDDD   
> \- Zelda
> 
>  
> 
> Aug 2, 2018  
> 1/1

**** *The next morning.

England: (Gets up early, bathing in his room before the Hellsun has even risen, sitting in the tub with warm water embracing his thin, frail form. He slides his hands down his legs, eyebrows furrowing. He’s so  _ thin _ and awful looking. Not eating has really destroyed his body. Arthur sighs, washing his hair and face and just cleaning up in silence. When the water starts to turn cold, he climbs out and sits on the edge to dry off, quietly humming to himself. He had to admit that he  _ did _ feel better than usual. (Probably because of the food he was forced to consume.) Feeling good or bad wasn’t the point, though. He wanted to escape. That was his whole purpose in doing this, even if it was--currently--all for nothing. Was there even a purpose at all?) 

 

*Depressed, Arthur finishes in the bathroom before returning and dressing, sitting beside the window in his room, looking out on Hell, the landscape beginning to lighten.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42911883655/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Comes by later in the morning, knocking on Arthur’s door. Hearing no answer, but knowing the angel to be beside the window, he cautiously enters, looking over to the angel. He pads in, coming up behind the other.)  Arthur?

England: (Doesn’t acknowledge him, starting out the window.) 

France: Arthur, come eat breakfast with me.

England: (Murmurs.)  I will not.

France: Then we will have to force-feed you, if you will not eat.  (Softly places his hand on the angel’s shoulder.) Please come eat. 

England: (Smacks the hand off with a wing, his face stoney.)  I will  _ not. _

France: (Frowns, gripping the angel’s wing in his hand. He leans down and murmurs in the other’s ear.)  I think you don’t want to die. Not really. You want to be free, oui, but you do not want to  _ die. _

England: (Struggles, standing and wrenching his wings away.)   _ You know nothing about me. _

France: (Advances on him, slowly corning Arthur.)  I know your will is strong, even when your body weakens. I know your  _ pride _ is poisoning your decisions and leading you down the wrong path.

England: (Snaps.)  You act as though you  _ have _ no pride, your  _ majesty. _

France: I keep my pride in  _ check. _ You simply let it go freely where you like. 

England: My pride is all I have  _ left!  _  (Frowns further when his back hits the wall, feeling cornered and threatened by the other.) 

France: (Comes even closer, trapping the angel with his forearms--placed on either side of Arthur’s head--and his wings, arched to pen in the other. His voice is calm while his gaze pierces into the other’s angry and frightened eyes.)  Pride kills, Arthur. It traps and suffocates and takes away chances,  _ opportunities. _ Your pride isn’t all you have. I  _ know _ it.

England: (Softly.)  I have nothing here.  (His hand reaches up, lightly touching the mark on his collar.)  I don’t even belong to myself. Like I’m an  _ object. _

France: (Kindly.)  You’re not. You are Arthur Kirkland. I want to see and know more, if you let me. 

England: (Glares, quiet.)  I will never let you see. Not until the day you treat me with decency and respect.

France: Respect is a two-way street, Arthur.

England: You’re the one who made the first move. An awful one, too. 

France: How did I make an awful move?

England: (Snaps.)  You practically  _ molested  _ me! 

France: (Calmly.)  I was testing you. Learning your boundaries. Learning about  _ you. _ I wanted to know who your were, after all that time with Ryszard. 

England: You could have  _ asked. _

France: Would you have told me the truth? Instead of what you were taught? 

England: (Opens his mouth to retort and say, “Yes, of course!” but he knows he’d be lying. He knows he would have been that perfect angelic pet, if just to protect himself.) 

France: (At the silence, he murmurs.)  Do you understand? 

England: . . . Leave me alone, your  _ majesty. _  (Glares, frustrated.) 

France: Not until you stop trying to kill yourself. 

England: They maybe I’ll have to stop  _ trying _ and just  _ do it!  _  (Winces as he’s grabbed by the upper arms.) 

France:  _ Stop it. _ I do not enjoy seeing you like this, wishing for death. I see so much potential, but you just want to  _ die. _ It doesn’t make sense to me. 

England: You don’t know what it’s  _ like. _ You’re a king who grew up a prince.  _ Royalty. _ You have  _ zero _ idea what it’s like for me. 

France: Don’t speak of what you don’t know.  (Has a dark look in his eyes, warning Arthur.) 

England: (Blinks in surprise.  _ He couldn’t know . . . _ )  . . . 

France: (Lowly.)  I was a slave, too, for a short time. I know you’re scared. I know it can be hard. Why do you think I’ve tried to treat you with such care? 

England: Because you paid too much not to?  (Raises an imperious eyebrow.) 

France: (Admits.)  That too. But it’s not  _ just _ that. I know what it’s like, as much as you think I don’t. 

England: (Is silent at that, not knowing what to say.) 

France: (Kindly.)  Come eat with me. Or Cermaka, even. You  _ need _ to eat. 

England: (Unwavering.)  No. 

France: (Eyes harden, a hand sliding down Arthur’s arm to grab his wrist and drag him along, messaging Cermaka and the servants on standby. He gave Arthur the chance. Now? He had to get the angel to eat, one way or another.) 

England: (Screeches, fighting the grip as he’s dragged down the hall to the king’s chambers.)  Stop! Let me go! 

France: (Is silent, pulling the angel into his room and sitting him down, restraining him with shadows.) 

England: (Watches Cermaka and the servants from before come towards him, panicking and struggling as he clenches his jaw shut.)   _ *Not again, not again, PLEASE! _

France: (When Arthur’s head begins to jerk, the demon holds his head in place, speaking calmly.)  Arthur, do you know why I’m doing this to you?

England: (Glares, trying desperately to wrench his head away, refusing to answer.) 

France: (Gestures the servants away for a moment, letting go of Arthur as he comes around the front. He wraps a hand around Arthur’s throat, not hurting him or applying too much pressure, but forcing the angel to look at him.)  Answer me. Do you know why I’m doing this to you? 

England: (A flash of anger flies through Arthur’s eyes, the angel spitting in the demon’s face- and instantly regretting it.) 

France: (Calmly wipes his face, growling as he gets in Arthur’s face.)   _ Do you know why I’m doing this to you?  _

England: (Trembles, shrinking a bit under the other’s angry stare. Whispers.)  To- to break me. 

France: (Softly sighs, shaking his head.)  To help you live. (Lets go, circling back around to hold his head, murmuring.)  I won’t let you starve yourself, Arthur.

England: (Clenches his jaw tightly when the demon’s carefully try to open his mouth, whining as they insert the device and he’s put through all this again, leaning away from the servants doing this to him.) 

France: (Eyes soften sympathetically, hating that he has to do this. He won’t let Arthur die, as stubborn as he is. When the process is over once again and the panel gag is being put in place, he pets through the angel’s hair kindly.)

England: (Just sits there, his head bowed in silence. When the servants leave, he leans away from Francis’ hands, glaring at him darkly.)

France: (Releases the angel from the shadows, taking a step back away from Arthur.)

England: (Is silent before rising from his chair to pad to the closest table with paper. He takes a clean sheet that doesn’t appear to be dedicated to anything and a pen, writing out quickly before holding the paper up in front of Francis, a glare fixed on his face.

*NOTE : 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/43766924202/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Reads it.)  No, you may not. You may stay in here or my study, if you wish.  (Pads to a small dining table, a servant having had come in and left the king’s breakfast, and sits down.)  Make yourself comfortable. 

England: (Glares more, walking into the demon’s study. He looks around the large room. It’s an, admittedly, very nice room, but the best part was that it was away from  _ Francis. _ Looking through the wall of bookshelves, he selects an intellectual demon text- he had to hand it to the demon, he had very good books available -and goes to the corner lounge. He curls up in the back corner, grumpily reading about the manipulations- the kinetics -of Hell. The author wrote with great reverence for fire, but still had plenty to say about the others, as well.) 

France: (Comes in a bit later, curiously peering at the relaxing angel before going to his desk to work.) 

England: (Doesn’t look at the demon, noticing him but not caring too much. He nods with an air of satisfaction that Francis didn’t attempt to speak with him. He continues to read in peace, only stirring from said peace to grumble at the soreness of his jaw. He was glad a different gag wasn’t placed on him- any type of in-mouth gag would have had the angel kicking and snarling -for that would have been quite disgusting and unpleasant. Still, his jaw was sore from being physically restrained and forced to eat. And not being able to move his jaw too much?  _ That _ was frustrating. So, he rises from the lounge and pads to Francis’ desk, waiting for the demon to acknowledge him before pointing to the gag, silently demanding it to be taken off.) 

France: (Quirks an eyebrow questioningly.)  Why? 

England: (Gives him a flat look.)

France: You’ll have to stay in here once I take it off. 

England: (Looks unsure for a moment before nodding, pointing to the gag once again.) 

France: (Searches the angel’s eyes for a moment before nodding, reaching up and unclipping the collar. He pulls it away, setting it on the desk before reaching for Arthur.) 

England: (Doesn’t let Francis touch him again, swiftly returning to the corner lounge with his book, silently reading as he gently rubs his jaw.)

France: (Frowns, but doesn’t say a thing about it, instead returning to his work.) 

England: (Reads quietly, staying there so long that he reads straight through the book, having to get up and get another, placing the first back in its original spot.) 

France: (Watches the angel methodically place the book back in the exact place he found it before browsing and taking another. He quirks an eyebrow at the angel’s very obsessive behavior. Francis didn’t take the angel to be the type to put a book- or anything, for that matter -in the  _ exact _ same place. Odd.) 

*As the day goes on, nothing much changes. Arthur reads and Francis works, though the demon has to slip away to take care of some things for a while. Still, Arthur remains in his corner seat, reading without a word to anyone.

*Later in the evening, Francis asks again for the angel to eat, only for Arthur to refuse and be force-fed once again. An hour later, the angel returns to his room, angry.

England: (Stays in his closet, a place that has steadily become a safe space for the angel, quietly cursing the demon’s name. Convinced that the demon’s protective nature was a manipulative action, he doesn’t trust a thing the other has done for him. There was no way Francis was being kind and true and  _ decent. _ He couldn’t fathom a decent  _ demon. _ Not after all the demons that hurt him up to then. But . . if he did turn out to be different, he would keep true to what he said. He would wait until he was allowed the respect and dignity he rightfully deserved as a living being. Until then? Francis couldn’t be trusted.) 

*Meanwhile, with Francis.

France: (Sits on his bed, trying to wrap his mind around the angel. What was really going through Arthur’s head? He wasn’t suicidal- that much he had been able to gather on his own -but still he starved himself. Everything had been calm and fine before- but before  _ when? _ He went through everything that had happened since Arthur had arrive and, while he had certainly frightened the angel, his own actions and testing advancements were not the cause. Arthur was fine even after that. But when- 

Francis blinked, suddenly realizing.  _ The day in the menagerie. _ But what triggered these feelings of, almost, resentment and hatred, wanting to flee? Was it the menagerie? Étincelle? Francis, himself, with his final shift? That’s what he didn’t understand. Arthur had looked sick after seeing Étincelle, so perhaps she  _ was _ the cause of this? 

He never completely understood her, but he knew she would protect him. She was the symbol of his reign. The reason his rightful place was the South West. Perhaps . . . Arthur understood her? He understood the minis like he was having a long conversation with them, after all, so perhaps she said something that worried him. Defiance caused by fear. That made sense. Now to remedy that fear without validating the defiance. . .)

*Over the course of the next two weeks. Arthur continued to refuse food and Francis held firm in his resolve, not giving up on the angel. 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/42911883375/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Knocks on Arthur’s door once again in the afternoon.)  Arthur? 

England: (Shakes, about to lose his  _ own _ resolve. He can’t do this again. He can’t go through the humiliation again. He runs to the closet, barricading the door.) 

France: (At the lack of an answer, he enters as usual, searching for a moment before hearing a dull thud from inside the closet. Eyebrows furrowing worriedly, he goes to the closet and gently pushes open the door, surprised when there’s some resistance.)  Arthur, mon petit? Will you come out, s’il vous plait?

England: (Pushes the door shut, trying to hold it there.)  No, leave me alone, please! 

France: (Gently.)  Arthur, will you please come and have a proper dinner with me? 

England: No!  (Holds the door, his body trembling in fear.) 

France: (Sighs.)  Arthur, I’m going to open the door, alright?

England: (Eyes widen as the door begins to slip from his grasp as it’s opened by the demon. He rushes back, the demon prying the door open and coming in.) 

France: (Looks to the fearful and trembling angel kindly, hold out a hand to the other.)  We don’t need to keep doing this, Arthur. Come have dinner. Please. 

England: (Shakes his head, frowning stubbornly.) 

France: (Retracts his hand, shaking his head as he grabs the angel and drags him out of the closet.)

England: (Struggles, quietly whining in fear as he tries to fight.) 

France: (Takes Arthur back to his room, restraining the other once again as the servants prepare the angel’s “meal.”)  Arthur, do you know why I’m doing this to you? 

England: (Whimpers.)  S-stop . . . 

France: (Firmly, trying to get him to answer.)  Arthur.

England: (Whines.)   _ I don’t know . . . _

France: (Gently.)  I’m doing this to save you. To keep you alive and keep you from killing yourself.  (Nods to the servants, holding Arthur.) 

England: (As they close in on the angel, he leans away, his eyes wide as his heart beats faster and faster, seemingly out of his chest, and he cries out.)   _ Wait! _

France: (Holds up a hand to the servants, looking down at the anxious and terrified angel.)  Mon petit? 

England: (Bows his head in shame, trembling in the demon’s hold as he whispers desperately.)  Stop . . . Please, I- I’ll eat. . . just stop.

France: (Sends the servants away, waiting until they’ve gone to carefully retract the shadows restraining Arthur. He comes around and kneels in front of the angel, looking up at him in concern, especially seeing tears slide down Arthur’s cheeks.)  Arthur? 

England: (Pulls his wings mostly around himself as he starts to cry, his pride shattering in humiliation.) 

France: Oh, mon petit. . .  (Gently pulls Arthur into his arms, petting other the angel’s wings and soothing him lovingly. While it was a horrible sight, seeing Arthur emotionally broken like this, he was glad the other finally gave in. Finally made that first step.)  You’re alright . . . I promise. 

England: (Trembles, eventually coming out enough to hold onto the demon, burying his face in the other’s shoulder, as he tries to take deep breaths and calm himself. He listens to Francis’ steady heartbeat, feels the other’s hand stroke calmly up and down his back, feels time slow as his heart does too, finally letting him touch the ground again.) 

France: (Softly, when the other calms down.)  Are you alright, mon petit? 

England: (Gently nods, pulling away to wipe his face, refusing to meet the other’s eyes.)  

France: (Softly brushes his fingertips over the other’s flushed cheeks, drawing out some of the heat from his head, knowing it would feel like a wonderful ice-pack to the face.) 

England: (Sighs at the cool touch, his head bowed. Quietly.)  Thank you. 

France: (Softly.)  De rien. (Leans in, leaving a soothing kiss on Arthur’s temple before simply petting through the angel’s hair.)  Would you like to lie down? 

England: (Nods carefully, the demon scooping him up before carrying him to the bed, Arthur holding onto the demon trustingly.) 

France: (Lays Arthur down with care, sitting beside him to watch over the angel, soothingly petting through the other’s hair.) 

England: (Lies there, quiet as he rests, his mind calming further as the demon pets through his hair. The two stay like that for nearly an hour before Arthur speaks to the other in a gentle, demure tone.)  Dinner? 

France: (Gently smiles, nodding as he messages the servants.)  Oui, it’ll be here shortly. Are you feeling any better, Arthur? 

England: (Sits up, nodding.)  Yes, your majesty. Much better, after the rest. 

France: Bon.  (Softly pecks Arthur’s forehead, only for the angel to lean away.) 

England: (Looks up at him.)  Your-  _ Francis,  _ I request that you please not kiss me in any degree without permission.  (After a moment.) Hand kisses are the only exception, as an act of refinement and civility. 

France: (After a moment, he nods.)  Very well. I won’t kiss you without your explicit permission.

England: (Nods, glad that request was so easily granted.)  Thank you, your majesty. I would like to have a reason to enjoy your company.  --  _ *Shit, I said that aloud. . .  _

France: (Isn’t too horribly offended, understanding.)  Then I will have to give you reasons.

England: (Gently.)  . . . Thank you. 

France: Thank yourself, Arthur. You made your first positive step, and I’m glad to have seen you do it. 

England: (Colors embarrassedly at that, glad when a servant brings them their dinners. He stands, speaking to Francis.)  I’m surprised you haven’t just eaten without me, at this point. 

France: (Stands, following to the table and pulling out a chair for the angel.)  Arthur, I told you that I wanted to eat  _ with _ you. 

England: Still, I haven’t been very . . cooperative for that.  (Sits in the chair, looking proper.) 

France: Nevertheless, I have remained hopeful.  (Sits, digging into his own dinner.) 

England: (Takes a deep breath before starting into his comparatively smaller dinner, slow and careful, gauging his body’s ability to handle it. Even though it was only soup and a sandwich, he was worried.)  

France: (Watches over the other, their conversation dying out as they eat. Truthfully, he was also worried about how the angel would handle the more solid food. Carefully.)  Arthur, I’d like you to stay in here tonight, in case you get sick. I’m nervous whether it not it will settle well.

England: (Nods, acceptingly.)  So am I. . . 

France: (Nods, glad the other agrees.)  You can have the bed, I’ll just- 

England: (Simply, cutting the other off.)  I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, your majesty. I’ll be fine on the sofa. 

France: Are you sure, mon petit? I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa. The bed is  _ much _ more comfortable. 

England: I am sure, Francis.  (Looks up at the other hesitantly.)  

France: . . . Very well. I’ll get you set up.  (Rings for a servant, the boy going to the other room to put down some pillows and a couple of blankets on the couch so Arthur will be comfortable. Francis checks that it's comfortable before Arthur finishes eating.) 

England: (Follows in after a couple of moments, padding up alongside Francis to arrange the pillows how he wants. When his hand brushes the demon’s, he flinches, pulling back his hand.)  Thank you for this. 

France: (Pulls up an empty waste bin, humming at the flinch.)  I want to make sure you’re comfortable, Arthur. 

England: (Nods.)  May I go change . . . ?

France: Oui, go.  (Watches Arthur slip out, messaging Cermaka to watch him. He smiles when the demoness reports that he’s only changing, keeping to his word. Satisfied, he collects some paperwork and relocates to his own room, sitting on his bed as he reads through reports.) 

England: (When he’s changing, he returns and curls up on the sofa with a book, cuddling into the mini-nest of pillows and blankets as he reads. It isn’t long before he starts drifting off in his little nest, the book resting against his chest.) 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/43766924072/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Goes to check on the angel before turning in for the night, smiling at the sleeping creature. He quickly pads up and carefully pulls the book from the other’s hands, bookmarking the page before setting it to the side and pulling the blanket a bit higher over the angel’s chest. With the other settled in, he returns to his own room and goes to sleep.) 

England: (Shifts, uncomfortable as he gets warmer and warmer. Eventually, he wakes and shirks his hot blanket, panting on the sofa. Fanning himself with his hand, he stretches out his wings, just trying to cool down. Despairingly, he thinks about all the ways he could cool down. He didn’t want to leave the room and possibly freak out Francis, but . . . he’s so  _ warm. _ Fretting, he gets up and slips back into his room, running a cold bath to slip his legs into, sighing.) 

France: (Wakes, hearing the other leave. When Arthur goes to the bathroom in his own room, he gets concerned, getting up to follow. He enters the other’s room, peeking into the bathroom to see the other sitting on the edge of the bath. He lightly knocks, looking to the other kindly.)  Are you alright?

England: (Surprised, he turns and looks up at the demon. Quietly.)  A bit. It was too warm in your study. I wasn’t feeling well, so I came to cool down.  (Bows his head.) I apologize if I woke you. 

France: (Shakes his head, coming over to sit beside Arthur.)  Don’t. I understand. May I? (Holds out a hand to the angel.)

England: (Hesitates before taking the demon’s hand, sighing as the demon  _ immediately _ makes him feel cooler.)  Thank you . . . 

France: (Gently strokes up the angel’s arms, pulling away all the excessive heat from the other’s body.)  

England: (Relaxes, leaning into Francis, the demon keeping him cool. Whispers.)  Thank you, thank you . . . 

France: (Softly pets through Arthur’s hair.)  Shh . . . It’s alright, mon petit. 

England: (Falls silent, resting as his body finally starts to feel better. He starts dozing off, tucked into Francis’ side.)  

France: (When the other falls asleep, he drains the cold water and collects Arthur into his arms, carrying the angel to his own bed. Laying the other down, he tries to pulls away, only for the angel to cling and quietly whimper. At said resistance, he lays with the other, quietly purring to comfort Arthur back into his deep slumber, holding the angel close and keeping him cool as he, too, falls asleep.) 


	17. Episode 17: Like the Fine Spiderwebs of Cracked Glass . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is . . . this is embarrassingly late. And I'm sorry. I've been like this lately for both AFLF and Wind-Tossed Feathers and I apologize. Especially if you read both. Then again there's like five people actually here, which makes me kind of sad. Like, I seriously feel like nothing's really happening? Especially since we do so much writing and try to make it the best content possible and . . we're both almost twenty. And poor. And suffering through college when neither of us really are sure that's a good idea anymore. Personally, I'd like to make writing an actual job where we make money, but I feel like nothing's ever going to happen with it? (If I ever edit this to say YO GO CHECK OUT OUR PUBLISHED BOOK OR WHATEVER then I guess I was wrong? Lit. Go sell that book, ya sexy beasts. XD) 
> 
> Seriously though. There's literally like no one here or at AFLF anymore except for three (four?) peeps and y'all are great. We literally fucking LOVE YOU GUYS, but . . . we really enjoy writing and putting out content for you guys weekly, so it's sad when there aren't a ton of reads (especially on AFLF, since most people don't read the summary that says to read the other seasons first and are like "this is stupid, I don't understand" and don't read another chapter. Because that's for sure happened) or comments or kudos. Maybe we'll get seen someday. Hopefully. 
> 
> That was kind of sad. Sorry. STORY TIME, ENJOY THE CHAPTER WHOOOOOOOOOOO.
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference. Any music/videos used are also for reference, and nothing we own unless stated otherwise. We own nothing.
> 
> Aug 10, 2018  
> 1/1

*****The next morning.

England: (Shifts in the demon’s arms, comfortable and cool, feeling . . . safe. He looks up at the sleeping king’s face, relaxed and calm in his slumber, and remains silent in the early morning. He didn’t feel like Francis would hurt him. He felt at ease, comforted by the other’s presence. It was strange to him. Nuzzling back into the other, he listens to the demon’s calm breathing and steady heartbeat, resting.)

France: (Wakes after a long while, reaching up to gently stroke through Arthur’s hair, glad the other seems comfortable.)

England: (Looks up at Francis, the demon’s hand stilling as their eyes meet for a moment. He averts his eyes, speaking quietly.)  Good morning.

France: Good morning, mon petit. Sleep well?

England: (Gently nods.)  Yes, thank you. (Is nervous, now that the other is awake and paying attention to him.)

France: (Softly pets through the other’s hair once again, murmuring.)  Are you alright?

England: (Quieter.)  Yes, your majesty.

France: (Hums, just silently petting through the other’s hair.) _*Why so nervous?_

England: (Tucks into the other hesitantly, calming down in the silence with the help of the minute string of love from the other. He breathes steadily, glad to just be held and calmed by the demon.)

France: (They lay quietly with one another for nearly an hour, barely speaking before he murmurs.)  Breakfast?

England: (Stays silent, almost wanting to refuse once again. Wanting to be stubborn.)

France: (Kindly, hoping the other doesn’t refuse.)  Arthur?

England: _*_ . . _It’s not worth it._  (Nods.)  Breakfast.

France: (Smiles, glad. _He’s making progress._ )  Bon.  (Shifts, ordering breakfast up for them.)  I’m glad you feel well enough to eat.

England: (Nods, silent as he shifts up, sitting against the headboard.)

France: (Remains silent, understanding that Arthur didn’t want to talk. When breakfast comes, he stands and holds out a hand to the angel to help him up.)

England: (Looks hesitant, but takes the hand and politely joins Francis at the small dining table, sitting properly as he waits for the other to begin eating, out of respect. (He was taught how to be a lady, thank you _very_ much.) The two them sit quietly and eat their breakfasts, the atmosphere rather tense.)  

France: (Speaks up near the end of the meal.)  If you would, s’il vous plait, stay with my for at least an hour in my study, I would be grateful. After, you may return to your room if you wish.

England: (Nods.)   _*He wants to watch over me so I don’t purge again._ \--  As you wish.

France: Merci.  (Finishes his breakfast, watching over Arthur, noting how much he eats before stopping and drinking his tea. He starts making a plan to ensure Arthur gets better.)

England: (Remains silent, calmly drinking his tea. When Francis rises to go to his study, he follows, watching the demon putter around and write things down, file other things, and more. He says nothing, merely fetching a book to read, the time flying by for the angel.)

France: (After an hour or so has passed, he looks to the angel curiously, just smiling at the sight of the other in his own world. He hums, making a quick decision.)  Arthur? Would you go on a walk with me?

England: (Blinks, hesitating before nodding.)  Yes. May I change first?

France: Yes, of course. I must as well.  (Stands, watching as the angel puts away his book, then marking the page with a strip of elegantly embroidered silk.)

England: (Nods respectfully to Francis.)  Excuse me, please. (Takes his book with him as he goes to his room, trying to quickly fix his hair--how horrific!--and pick a nice dress to wear, getting his outfit quickly together. He throws on the dress, smoothing it out when it’s in place before combing through his awfully messy hair, pulling it into a messy bun, and getting ready. Taking a deep breath, he slips on his shoes and comes out, going to Francis’ door. He raises a fist to knock, the door flipping open before he can, Arthur yelping in surprise.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/30090023988/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Jumps a bit as well, cooing after nearly bursting out at the angel.)  Je suis désolé, I didn’t mean to frighten you.

England: (Lays a hand over his chest, his heart racing.)   _*You bloody better be sorry! My heart nearly stopped at that scare._ \--  . . No, no. It’s fine.

France: (Gently smiles, his hand on the angel’s shoulder.)  Forgive me. Shall we walk, mon chenille?

England: (Nods.)  Yes. Let’s walk.

France: (Offers his arm, the two walking down the hall.)

England: (Takes the other’s arm obediently, noticing how the demon lights up at the action. He silently walks with Francis, calming down slowly.)

France: (Is silent for a long while, content to just walk with Arthur. He thinks as they walk, hesitant to bring up things coming up in the near future and ruin the calm mood, especially since his court was getting impatient about seeing the angel. He wanted to bring Arthur, too, but with everything that has happened, he’s worried about doing so. Afraid something will go wrong.)

England: (After a while of not understanding why something didn’t feel _quite_ right, he recognizes the other’s apprehension. Gently.)  Is something on your mind, your majesty?

France: (Sighs.)  Politics, I’m afraid.

England: (Hesitantly.)  About me?

France: . . In a way, oui. My court wishes for me to bring you to court and present you.  (Looks at the other from the corner of his eye.)

England: (Frowns slightly at the idea of being _presented_ , nodding.)  When do you go to court next?

France: In a couple of days.

England: (Hums, the frown mostly fading.)  Then I will have to prepare accordingly. How do you wish me to be?  (Looks at the other expectantly.)

France: (Quirks an eyebrow.)  You are not opposed to going to court with me?

England: No. You are a king. I have been prepared for all the things that come with being . . _your_ angel.  (The last part is said a bit bitterly.)

France: (Hums.)  Just wear something you will be comfortable in. I will have a few pieces sent up, but if you have a better suggestion than them, I’d be more than willing to look over what you would like to wear.

England: Understood, your majesty.  (After a moment or two.) Is there anything I should expect from you or your court?

France: Expect curiosity. You’re something very new here.

England: (Nods, looking to Francis.)  And . . from you?

France: . . Your king. I will take care of you, but being before the court is very serious and political.

England: (Gently.)  You will be more King Bonnefoy and less Francis, yes?

France: (Nods with an encouraging smile.)  That’s the best way to put it.

England: And, from me, you wish for me to be silent and, how did you put it? ‘Look pretty’?

France: Pretty, silent, and- this is very important, Arthur -you must be perfectly obedient.  (Looks at the angel seriously.)

England: (Shrinks under the gaze, murmuring demurely.)  Yes, sir.

France: (Eyebrows furrow at the ‘sir.’)  Sir?

England: _*Shit._  (Shrinks a little more.)  Forgive me. Yes, your majesty.

France: _*He’s afraid. But why?_  (Carefully pulls Arthur into his arms, petting through the other’s hair.)  Easy . . . I forgive you, mon petit. I won’t punish you.

England: (Huddles, breathing shakily as he mentally berates himself.)   _*Dammit, stop! Why am I still like this? He won’t hurt me- this is so_ **_stupid!_ **

France: (Gently tries to calm the other, going back in his mind to figure out the trigger point. “Sir” was an obvious step back for Arthur, so . . was it his tone? . . The idea of obedience? Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. It was still Ryszard. What that bastard demon did to him. Softly.)  Where would you feel safe right now?

England: (His mind races, thinking of several places, but he doesn’t _want_ to be here. _Far away_ wasn’t a viable answer, so . . . He whispers.)  My room. _Please._

France: (Nods, scooping Arthur up and carrying him quickly to his own room. As he opens the door, Arthur scrambles from his arms and slips into the closet, shutting the door. He pads to the door, tapping his finger on the door as a soft knock.)  Arthur? Can I get you anything?

England: (Quietly, from the other side.)  . . . My bed?

France: (Gently.)  Pillows and blankets?  

England: Yes, please.  

France: One moment.  (Immediately goes and collects up the angel’s bedding, bringing it all to the closet in one giant arm- and wing -ful.)  Do you want me to leave it and back away for you?

England: N-no. I think I’ll be alright.  (Waits a couple of moments before opening the door a crack, taking the offered pillow inside and putting it where he wants, repeating for all the pillows and blankets Francis brought him as he arranges a quick and temporary nest. When he’s done, he goes back to the door, peeking out at the demon.)  C-could you also pass me my pen?

France: (Gently, nodding.)  Oui. (Retrieves it, passing the pen to Arthur, his wings postured neutrally.)

England: (Takes them, shutting the door and slipping inside with the tool. He sits down, drawing a sigil on his hand with the pen before curling up his nest.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/29020747287/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (After a long period of silence, he peeks the door open a tiny bit, noticing the shaking ball of feathers in the nest of bedding. His eyebrows furrow, murmuring.)  Arthur? I’m here for you. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll stay out here unless you ask me to come in or go farther away, alright?

England: (Softly.)  Thank you. Please don’t- don’t go. J-just . .  (Peeks out.) . . stay there? Please?

France: (Nods.)  I’m here. Door open or shut?

England: (Stops, hesitant and not knowing what he wants.)  . . Like that? For now?

France: Oui. I won’t move it.  (Rests against the wall, keeping part of himself in view at all times without blocking the exit. He’s worried about Arthur. (And a little concerned about the unfamiliar rune penned on Arthur’s hand, but he trusts the angel enough to not bring it up yet.))

England: (Sighs, curling up tightly in his nest. He looks over a Francis every once in a while, anxious for a variety of reasons, but also inwardly debating if he wants to have Francis closer or farther away. After a while, he gets up and drags his nest closer to the door, sitting back down. He reaches between the crack and softly touches the demon’s hand, the other’s fingers stretching out for availability. He hesitantly entwines their hands, laying back down and, finally, relaxing.)

France: (Holds Arthur’s hand lovingly, his thumb softly brushing over the soft skin to comfort him more. He also lays down, relaxing outside the door as they rest.)

England: (Sleeps for a while, calmer than he’s been in some time. When he wakes, he looks around and catches his bearings, still holding onto Francis’ hand. He feels less anxious and afraid, glad he could calm down. Peering at his nest, he supposes that he’ll have to make it more permanent since this was where he felt the most secure. Which was unfortunate, considering it was a relatively dark closet.)

France: (Feeling Arthur move around, he peers through the crack at the angel, gently squeezing the hand.)  Arthur?

England: (Meets the other’s eyes, speaking gently.)  Yes?

France: (Kindly.)  Are you feeling any better?

England: (Nods.)  Yes, thank you.

France: . . Do you want to talk about it?

England: (Is hesitant.)

France: (Carefully.)  I know _why_ , but . . I want to help, Arthur.

England: (Gently squeezes his hand, speaking softly.)  I keep seeing and hearing what happened, Francis. I- I honestly just wish I didn’t remember any of that time.  -- _*I wish I didn’t remember what they did._

France: (Nods.)  I understand, mon petit. I wish I could take those memories away from you.

England: (Murmurs to himself.)  Me too.

France: (Squeezes Arthur’s hand, suddenly understanding why the angel had been they way he’s been. There was something much more seriously wrong with Arthur.)  We’re going to get you the help you need, I promise.

England: (Minutely draws away, frightened. He doesn’t feel safe leaving.)

France: (Gently.)  You’re safe. Would you feel better if you stayed in there for a while?

England: (Nods.)  

France: Alright, you’re safe, then. Are you hungry? I can get some lunch up here for us.

England: (Hesitantly nods.)

France: (Sends for some food, stroking over Arthur’s hand comfortingly.)

England: (Sits there, silent as a mouse as they wait. When there’s a knock at the door, he draws back into the closet, gently shutting the door.)

France: (Takes care of the servant quickly, sending him away and carrying the tray over to the closet.)  Mon petit?

England: (Peeks out, eyes immediately going to the door before flitting back to Francis. Gently.)  They're gone?

France: Oui, they're gone. Do you want to eat in the closet you have yet to come out of, or the table we have a little easier time of cleaning?

England: (Shrinks a little at the other's words, silent for several moments before cautiously opening the door, _very_ hesitant to come out.)  I- . . I suppose the table . . would be best.

France: (Encourages.)  Grab either your favorite or second favorite blanket and wrap up in it, if it helps.

England: (Shakily nods, slipping back to his nest and grabbing a soft and thin blanket, wrapping around his shoulders as he comes out. His eyes are more down as he goes with Francis to the table, sitting cautiously and somewhat calmly. (He's trying.))

France: (Gently.)  You're doing well, mon petit.  (He sets up the tray, putting the meal in front of the angel and sitting down across from him.)

England: (Peers up at Francis, hesitantly moving to eat, relaxing a bit with a combination of the other's careful moves and kind words. He feels a bit better as he gets more food into his system.)

France: (Sips from a cup of coffee, his croissant sandwich tasty as well.)

England: (When he can't eat anymore, he stops, folding his his hands demurely in his lap.)

France: (Pouts.)  No more?

England: (Softly shakes his head, gaze down.)

France: (Pouts harder, giving Arthur puppy eyes.)

England: (His wings slightly curl around himself, feeling a bit sick. Softly.)  I can't.

France: Not even a sip of water?

England: (Hesitates before drinking a little bit of water.)

France: Merci~!

England: (Nods, silent. He keeps his submissive appearance, staying quiet like that.)

France: Would you like me to take you back to your closet?

England: . .  (Nods gently, cautiously looking up at Francis. Softly.)  Please?

France: (Nods, coming over and picking the angel up, setting him gently back down in his nest of blankets.)  Happy?

England: (Nods, curling up with his blankets. He looks up at Francis for a moment before looking away.)  . . I suppose you have work to do. Forgive me.

France: No need, I have my papers right here!  (Pulls them out from a deep pocket, flourishing them with a happy smile.)

England: (Eyes widen, a bit surprised . . and happily so. Gently.)  . . Sit with me?

France: Oui, but of course~!  (Sits with Arthur, going through his reports and signing papers on his clipboard.)

England: (Lays, feeling safe in his nest and . . . alright with Francis being so close. He wasn't _in_ the nest, so it wasn't bad. After a little while, a hand snakes out from his bundle and hooks into Francis' pocket, holding him minutely to keep himself calm and in the moment.)

France: (Purrs, handing a raspberry over to Arthur from the bowl he grabbed earlier.)

England: (Gently takes and noms on the berry, relaxed.)

France: (Writes more because that's his job as king. Politics are shit.)

England: (Rests, lightly dozing. In his sleep, he holds a little tighter to the demon's pocket.)

France: (Tries not to squee at the cuteness.)

England: (Slowly shifts closer, damn near out of the nest as he nestles beside Francis, finding him _safe._ )

France: (Gingerly scoops a wing around Arthur protectively, shielding the angel with his white and gold wings.)

England: (His eyes open drowsily for a moment before sinking shut, his grip lessening on the demon's pocket.)

France: (Purrs, ecstatic Arthur is beginning to trust him.)

England: (Sleeps like that for a long time before shifting, looking around tiredly as he wakes.)

France: (Absently as he works.)  Had a good nap?

England: (Nods.)  . . Yes. I feel much better now.

France: Bon.

England: (Sits up, gently taking his hair out of its bun to comb through his hair with his fingers and pull it back up again, just . . sitting there with Francis.)

France: Do you want me to take my wing away?

England: . . No. It's alright.  (Gently strokes his hand over the soft white leather of his wing, curious.)

France: (Shifts, gently pressing against the hand.)

England: (Peers up at Francis for a moment before continuing, feeling the other's wing and stroking along the edge of gold with care.)

France: (Purrs louder, a little vain about the gold on his wings.)

England: (Peers up at Francis, murmuring kindly.)  They're very beautiful.

France: (Blushes at that.)  Merci beaucoup.

England: (Replies without thinking, smoothly stroking his hand over the wing.)  De rien . . .

France: (Preens with pride of both Arthur and himself.)

England: (Leans against Francis, surprisingly calm as he forces himself to think about things around him, wanting to avoid past memories.)

France: . . Would you be insulted if I got you something cute?

England: (Eyebrows furrow, leaning away to quirk an eyebrow at him.)  . . What are you thinking?

France: I would like to give you a cuddle stuffie. They're quite . . popular.

England: (Frowns, looking a little insulted/embarrassed. He goes to say something a little snappily, stopping before murmuring.)  Do as you please.

France: . . May I at least show you what I got for you?

England: . .  (Nods.) You may.

France: (Beams, bringing them out of another pocket. They're both the size of the original animals they're modeled after.)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/30090062168/in/dateposted-public/)

England: (Blinks, a little surprised that Francis was just _carrying them around-_ even though he can definitely do something like that -and looks them over. They're certainly cute. . . )  . . . May I?

France: (Holds them out.)  Go ahead. They have a setting that will make them vibrate in a way that simulates a pulse, as well as a cooling and heating setting.

England: (Hums, taking the two. He adjusts one, making it cooler, Arthur sighing as it starts feeling colder. After a few moments of just holding them, he looks at Francis kindly.)  Thank you.

France: (Beams, excited.)  You like them!?

England: (Blushes, gently nodding.)  Y-yes.

France: That makes me happy to know that I can figure out what some of the things you like are~.

England: (Has a kind look in his eyes as he gazes at Francis, blushing a bit in embarrassment.) _*Me too._

France: (Gently raises a finger up slowly, carefully extending it towards Arthur's face.)

England: (Leans away slightly, not sure what Francis is about to do.)

France: (Follows . . . booping Arthur on the nose.)   _Boop._

England: (Blinks at the boop, just kind of looking at Francis in minute surprise.)

France: (Chuckles.)  Your eyes are so wide, mon petit.

England: (Eyebrows furrow, a little embarrassed by that as he looks away.)

France: (Hums mischievously.)  Perhaps I should say, mon _lapin?_  [bunny?]

England: (Doesn't say a thing, his nose turning up a little at the cute pet-name.)

France: Oui, you are my little _lapin~._

England: (Hums.)  As you say.

France: Just imagine, cute, floppy, little bunny ears on you? _Tres_ adorable.

England: (Gently.)  I will not agree with you on the matter. It's just silly.

France: (Laughs.)  May I hug you, mon lapin?

England: . . Yes, you may.

France: (Beams, hugging the angel close.)  Merci.

England: (Returns the hug gently, allowing the demon to control the duration of the hug.)

France: (Hugs for forever.)

England: (Relaxes into it, finding that he doesn't mind being held as much as he wished he did.)

France: (Purrs, cuddling _his_ angel.)

England: (Simply leans against the other's rumbling chest, profound ease filling his heart and mind.)

France: (Wraps his wings around the angel lightly, making a sort of 'tent of safety' around him.)

England: (Ducks his head down, softly smiling as he tucks into Francis' embrace.)

France: (FRANCIS IS SO HAPPY.)

England: (Doesn't say a thing or make a sound, feeling how happy the other is. He simply stays there, tucked into the demon, and absorbs the other's love.)

France: (Carefully pet's through Arthur's hair in what he hopes is a comforting fashion.)

England: (After a couple of moments, he leans into the hand, still calm and relaxed. Softly.)  Thank you.

France: (Chimes.)  You're welcome~.

England: (Lays his ear against the other's chest, listening to the demon's steady heartbeat.)

France: (Really just cuddles, pushing his papers completely away.)

England: (After a long while, he gently pushes Francis down into his temporary nest and cuddles with him, finally getting good and comfortable.)

France: (IS SO, SO HAPPY.)

England: (Can hear how excited Francis is in his heartbeat, a tiny smile on his face at the other's endearment.)

France: (AHHHHHHHHHH SO HAPPY.)

England: (Gently, trying to hide the sweetness in his voice.)  Are you ever going to calm down, Francis?

France: NON.

England: (Fuck it. He lets the sweetness slip in a little.)  Please?

France: I admire you too much to calm down.

England: (Admire? That wasn't quite the word Arthur was expecting.)  . . . How so?

France: Because you're doing your best to get through each day, you're letting yourself begin to trust others, and you look at something and then decide.

England: . . .  (Hums, nodding.)  I see.

France: (Smiles, happily petting through Arthur’s hair. He peers at the other’s hand, marked by the unfamiliar rune, and gently asks.)  May I ask about your hand?

England: (Peers at the rune, having almost forgotten about it.)  It’s a rune of protection. Protection and positivity. I hoped it would make me feel safer.

France: (Kindly.)  Did it?

England: . . In a way, yes.

France: Bon.

England: (Softly, as they cuddle.)  . . Thank you.

France: You're welcome, mon lapin.

England: (Gently sighs and tentatively extends a wing to wrap around the demon a bit, tense and gradually relaxing.)

France: (Purrs, gently scratching his claws against Arthur's scalp.)

England: (Is a little nervous because of the obvious feeling of claws against his scalp, but forces himself to relax.)   _*I'm safe. I'm safe._

France: (Lightly massages Arthur's scalp.)

England: (Breathes, calming under the other's careful touch. He turns his face into the demon's chest.)

France: (Nuzzles Arthur.)

England: (Lightly trembles, just holding onto Francis tightly.)

France: (Whispers quiet endearments in French.)

England: (Whimpers quietly, desperately holding in his sounds of weakness as he listens, understanding the other's words.)

France: (Murmurs.)  It's alright . . .

England: (Hides a little in his wings, silencing everything except some quiet sniffles.)

France: (Purrs louder, hiding the other's sniffles with his sounds.)

England: (Burrows into the other, feeling the other's rumbling purrs in his hands and chest. He breathes shakily, holding tightly to _Francis,_ knowing it's Francis and no one else.)

France: (Carefully pecks the top of Arthur's head.)

England: (Is initially revolted by the action, but forces himself to stay calm. _Remember_ where he is. Remember that he's _safe._ )

France: (Goes back to purring comfortingly.)

England: (After many long minutes, he slowly begins to calm, his grip on the other loosening minutely.)

France: (Pets Arthur's wings with his own.)

England: (Gently arches his wing into the other's, his reddened face being partly exposed out of the safety of his feathery cloak.)

France: (Softly wipes away the trace of wetness on Arthur’s exposed cheek, his motions slow.)

England: (Turns his face into the other’s hand, looking up at Francis with incredible trust in his eyes, but also the traces of fear that he can’t seem to get rid of. He reaches a hand up, laying it over the hand on his cheek, holding onto the demon.)  . . . I don’t know you . . but . . I know what you’re not. You’re not them.

France: No, I’m not. And I never will be. I promise you that, Arthur.

England: . .  (His voice cracks slightly as he whispers.)  Please don’t break that promise.

France: (Pulls Arthur close, murmuring.)  I won’t break it. I _won’t._

England: (Holds tight to Francis, the two laying there for many minutes before he pulls away, sitting up beside the demon. Kindly.)  . . Could we leave? Go somewhere else for a little while?

France: (Eyebrows furrow, a little worried as he sits up and goes to speak.)

England: (Before he can say anything, he interrupts.)  I know you don’t want to take me out of this castle. And . . I understand. I haven’t really done anything to gain any trust, whatsoever. Just . . somewhere _else._ With . . Somewhere with light.

France: (Gently.)  Would you feel alright in the menagerie?

England: (Nods, hesitantly, just realizing he’d have to _leave_ to get anywhere else.)

France: (Slips his hand into Arthur’s, sensing his unease.)  You’ll be safe with me. You know that, oui?

England: (Gently squeezes the hand, nodding.)  . . I know.

France: (Kindly.)  Let’s go. (When the angel nods again, he stands and gently pulls Arthur to his feet, guiding him out of the closet.)

England: (Follows, holding onto Francis’ hand as they leave the safety of the closet and near the door. When the demon reaches for the door handle, his hand flies out and grabs Francis’ wrist, anxious. He focuses on calmly breathing, his eyebrows furrowing in determination as he builds courage to just _open the door._ )

France: (Stands there patiently, watching as the angel frowns and steels himself. He gently smiles when Arthur releases his wrist and opens the door, determinedly striding into the hall.)

England: (He pulls Francis along, the demon surprisingly patient with him as he tests his own boundaries. Once in the hall, however, that’s when his vision narrowed and his senses pricked on every foreign footfall he heard. _A slaver?_ **_Him?_ ** And he felt warm, but comfortably so, as a white leather wing wraps around him comfortingly and he hears the other’s calm murmurings. He takes a deep breath, listening to Francis and focusing on _him._ )

France: (Gently.)  -on cher? Arthur? Are you ready?

England: . . .  (Nods.) I’m ready.

France: (Gently squeezes the angel’s hand once more, leading him down the hallway and shielding him with his wing from any dangers the other perceives. At every flinch and shiver, he simply purrs and pulls Arthur closer, wanting to make the angel feel safe.)

England: (Holds tightly to Francis as they make their way to the menagerie. When he sees those white doors come into view, he brightens up and damn near _drags_ Francis inside, shutting the door with a sigh. He starts a little when he feels hands on his shoulders, his wings flaring out a bit.)

France: (Backs off for a moment, speaking gently as he lightly sets his hands on the other’s shoulders.)  It’s just me . . You’re alright.

England: (Relaxes, looking back at Francis. He’s silent for a few moments before speaking up, still rather quiet.)  . . Walk with me?

France: (Nods, smiling kindly.)  Oui, of course. (Extends an arm for Arthur, looking at him kindly.)

England: (Takes the arm, staying close to Francis as they walk down the path, guiding them towards the open, grassy meadow nearby. It isn’t long before he slips from the other and walks among the deep grasses and flowers, eventually sinking down into the green waves. He picks a few flowers, weaving them together into a small wreath.)

France: (Follows, sitting down beside the angel and smiling as he watches the other’s delicate fingers deftly move and weave the grass and flowers together.)

England: (Softly, as he works.)  . . I need help, Francis. This isn’t normal. This . . _anxiety_ isn’t normal.

France: (Kindly.)  Arthur, it’s not unusual with what you’ve been through.

England: No, it’s not.  (Adds another flower to his wreath.)  But it doesn’t mean it should be there.

France: (Nods.)  I understand. . . . If I’m honest, I would like to take you to an angel-specializing physician. I feel like they could help you with both your physical and mental troubles.

England: (Quirks an eyebrow at Francis, pausing in his weaving.)  Physical?

France: (Gently.)  You were starved, Arthur. I want to make sure you will soon be healthy in _every_ way.

England: (Nods, understanding, and goes back to his weaving.)  Where would this physician be?

France: I can bring one here, from the A.I.R.O. facility here in the city. We can find you one you feel comfortable with that would have the right expertise.

England: (Adds another flower, nodding.)  That sounds more than acceptable. (Pauses his weaving, looking down at the partial-wreath.)   _*Will I ever heal from this?_

France: (Looks at Arthur’s silent gaze, pausing a moment before moving closer and wrapping an arm and a wing around the angel. He leans in, murmuring beside the other’s ear.)  You’re nervous?

England: . .  (Leans into Francis, whispering.)  Scared.

France: (Softly.)  Why?

England: (Shakes his head, even more afraid to speak the desperate words swelling in his heart as his hands fly, adding more and more grass and flowers to his wreath.)   _*Because I don’t want to remember these past months. I don’t want to remember the pain, I don’t want to remember their hands on my body, I don’t want to remember_ **_any of it._ ** _I’m afraid that I’ll never forget. Always be scared of the unknown demon in the hall. Of voices I can’t see._

France: (Holds Arthur, purring comfortingly. He’ll let it out when he’s ready.)

England: (Whispers.) _I don’t want to be afraid anymore._

France: (Kindly.)  Give yourself time. You will heal. You will feel safe, _in time._

England: . . . I hope you’re right.

France: I _am._ Trust the process, mon lapin. You will heal and grow. I feel it in my heart, Arthur.

England: (Softly laughs, quiet.)  We’ll see . . . (Picks back up his flower wreath, finishing it off so it’s a crown. He turns, looking up at Francis, and reaches up to place the flower crown atop the demon’s head, softly smiling as it settles into place.)  Fit for a king.

France: (Smiles sweetly, taking Arthur’s hand and gently kissing the back, looking happily at the angel.)  Merci, mon cher.

England: (Kindly.)  You’re welcome, Francis.  (Contently sighs, spreading his wings to sun himself, relaxing in the light.)

*The two stay together like that for nearly the rest of the day.


	18. Episode 18: . . So Cracked His Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT, GUYS, I'M BACK!!! 
> 
> Listen, this took for absolute freaking forever, but Andy and I are done with the semester as of Thursday and I don't start working again until January 5th??? So we have time!!! 
> 
> Also, this chapter was originally 45 pages. Think about that. That's utterly MASSIVE compared to how long these chapters usually are. As such, I've chopped it in three pieces, but episode 18 is now the smallest piece. SORRY!!!!! I will be posting more VERY SOON!!!
> 
> Special thanks to my intro to art therapy professor, confidant, and practicing art therapist, Ann, for helping by reading over bits of episodes 18-21 and guiding me along writing the therapeutic interactions between Arthur and his new therapist. Thank you so much for reviewing it and helping me!! Without you, I doubt this story would actually be decent! XD <3
> 
> ALSO!!!! Concerning the therapist/doctor: her name is Dr. Anya Robert and it's pronounced very French. Ahn-yah. Roh-bear. I love it. She is very French/South Western. Her South Western Frenchness is much like Francis'. 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference. Any music/videos used are also for reference, and nothing we own unless stated otherwise. We own nothing.
> 
> December 23, 2018  
> 1/1

*A couple of days later. A physician from the South West A.I.R.O. has come to the palace for Arthur, the angel preparing before waiting for the demon to arrive.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/46428600531/in/dateposted-public/)

England: (Having nervously dressed, put up his hair in his usual bun, and been led to the royal physician’s office, he sits in the equally nerve-wracking place of waiting while his new doctor and Francis spoke privately. He hoped to God that Francis wasn’t planning on asking the demon exactly what was discussed during their appointments. (Honestly, he’d much rather keep all the shameful things that happened to him to  _ himself, _ even though that wouldn’t do him any good at this point, but he sure as hell didn’t want Francis to know unless  _ he _ told the demon  _ himself. _ ) Instead of assuming, of course, he tried to have good faith in the demon-  _ both _ of them.)

France: (After a somewhat long conversation, he comes out of a private room followed by a tall, dark, and gentle-appearing demoness, smiling happily.)  Arthur, this will be your physician and therapist, Dr. Anya Robert. 

Doctor: (Smiles kindly at the angel, extending a hand to Arthur.)  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. I’ve heard a bit about you, from Francis, but how does getting better  _ personally _ acquainted sound?

England: (Stands at the personal address and smiles kindly in return, his own more reserved as he gently shakes the other’s hand. But, the end- her question -sounded like something that made a chill go through his body. He didn’t even realize he had released her hand and backed up until he was in Francis’ arms, the demon murmuring calmly to him.)

Doctor: (Looks a bit startled and  _ very _ apologetic as she quickly retraces her steps, staying silent for now.) 

France: Arthur, mon petit, can you hear me?  (At the lack of answer, he murmurs again.) Arthur?

England: (Looks up at his name, looking shaken.)  I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-

Doctor: (Kindly.)  You have nothing to apologize for, Arthur. I understand that you’ve been through quite a bit. If you feel uncomfortable having me as your physician for any reason whatsoever, please tell me. I will personally find someone that would make you feel more comfortable. 

England: N-no. That . .  (Takes a deep breath.) That won’t be necessary. I apologize, it’s just . . something you said reminded me of someone I’d much rather forget. 

Doctor: Is there anything I can do to help?

England: . .  (Shakes his head.)  No. I can handle it. You said your name was . . Anya Robert? 

Doctor: (Nods, smiling kindly.)  Yes. You may call me Anya if it makes you more comfortable.  

England: . .  (Nods.) As long as you call me Arthur, I think that would be splendid.  (Gives a small smile back.) 

Doctor: (Smiles happily.)  That sounds wonderful, Arthur. Shall we? I just want to get some measurements and do a couple of routine tests to make sure you’re in perfect health.

England: (Nods, looking up at Francis. Gently.)  Where will you be? 

France: (Smiles sweetly.)  Right here, in case you need me. 

England: (Blushes, blinking at the statement before looking away embarrassedly.)  I know you have work- 

France: (Quirks an eyebrow as he pulls some papers from his pocket, smirking.)  Oui, I do. And I’ll be doing work while I wait. 

England: . . You’re sure? I- I don’t  _ need _ you here . . .

France: I know, mon petit. Let me stay near?  (Pouts.) 

England: (Looks a little flustered for a moment before sighing, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.)  Fine. You may stay-  _ out here. _

France: (Grins happily.)  Of course, mon cher! I’ll be waiting, but don’t worry about me a bit.  (Sits in a comfortable chair, waiting for Arthur to start towards Anya before beginning to work, using his time wisely to be done with the stupid paperwork.) 

England: (Goes with the doctor, glancing back at Francis- the demon already working -with a kind look before entering the private examination room.)

Doctor: (Shuts the door behind them, kindly asking.)  Would you please remove your shoes? 

England: (Nods, slipping off his shoes easily, looking to her for instruction.)

Doctor: (Gestures for him to sit down in a chair, getting out a sterile syringe.)  Are you alright with needles, Arthur? I just want to draw a little blood, I promise.

England: (Is a little tense at the sight of the needle.)  . . Yes, I’m alright. As long as you’re not putting anything  _ in _ me. 

Doctor: (Kindly.)  Of course not. I do not think I will need to administer anything to you today, at the very least.  (Smiles.) If I do, I will be sure that it’s not by a needle. 

England: (Gently.)  Thank you. 

Doctor: Of course.  (In practiced, calm movements, she takes care of Arthur’s arm and draws a little blood, packaging it up and preparing the divided sample for her tests, letting them run while they continue. The two of them, patient with one another, go through the blood tests and Arthur’s weight, among all the other tests done on the angel. It isn’t long before they’re sitting in a couple of comfortable chairs, talking.)  I understand that it was  _ you _ who insisted on needing outside help. Why are you seeking therapy?

England: (Gentle, really shy as he explains.)  I . . I can’t deal with what’s going on in my head alone. I can’t handle it anymore. I need help.

Doctor: (Nods, gently.)  What do you expect from me as I help you? 

England: I hope . . that you can help me move on and be calmer. I’ve been so anxious the last couple of weeks, I’ve been cracking like fine glass, and . . I can’t really take that kind of repeated, unnecessary stress. 

Doctor: (Nods.)  Very understandable. I know this is difficult, so I hope I will be able to help you with de-stressing and working through your anxiety.  (Moves on.) I also am aware that you were with your slaver for almost six months. How has settling into the palace been for you?

England: (Kindly.)  As well as it can. I feel as out of place as- as a tea cup in a bar. 

Doctor: (Smiles, amused by the analogy.)  I can understand that. It’s been hard being away from the other angels, then. 

England: Yes. . . Quite. 

Doctor: (Hums at the vague answer, simply nodding and redirecting the conversation to continue the calm, friendly atmosphere.)  What would you say your favorite part of the palace is, so far?

England: (Blinks, humming as he thinks through the surprising question.)  Well . . . I suppose the library or the menagerie. (At the encouraging and curious look, he continues.)  I quite enjoy reading, so the space is quite marvelous, and the menagerie just feels lovely and always welcoming. 

Doctor: (Gently smiles.)  What about it feels the most welcoming, if I may? 

England: . . . The light, mostly, but also just how  _ green _ and beautiful it is. It’s not overly hot, either. It’s far more regulated and cooler than in other places in the palace. 

Doctor: (Sympathetically.)  I imagine the South West is a bit warmer than you’re necessarily used to? 

England: (Nods.)  Very much so. My home is . . far more temperate than the extreme heat here.  --  _ *And Ryszard kept the caravan relatively temperate, though on the warm side, so we couldn’t get used to it while we were travelling. _

Doctor: It sounds very comfortable. 

England: (Nods.)  . . I do miss it. It was . . . much less bothersome, I suppose.

Doctor: (Nods, understanding.)  Arthur, may I ask you what bothers you daily? Does the training or anything that- 

England: (Cuts her off, holding up a hand.)  It’s the fact that I can’t erase it from my memory. That it’s impeding my ability to forget about it and move on. That is what bothers me.

Doctor: (Nods, having a bit of a hunch. She looks at the angel.)  Arthur, I need to ask you a bit of a difficult question, but I want you to answer truthfully with no fear, alright?  (Meets Arthur’s eyes seriously.) You are aware of the laws protecting angels in Hell, yes? 

England: (Nods, having a feeling where this is going.)  Yes, I am. 

Doctor: (Gently, but with the utmost seriousness.)  Were you forced to be part of penetrative sex, or any acts that would break those laws? 

England: (Shakes his head, eyes down as he minutely wrings his hands.) 

Doctor: (Kindly.)  Arthur . . were you ever raped? 

England: (Softly.)  Not in a way that would break the law.

Doctor: (Nods.)  But you were sexually assaulted by someone that was not part of your training with your slaver? 

England: . . .  (Nods once, silent.) 

Doctor: (Softly.)  Alright. I suspected that might have been the case, from what you and King Bonnefoy have told me.  (Kindly.) You’re safe here, his majesty wished me to impress that upon you. What happened there will not happen here. Alright? 

England: (Nods.)  Yes. 

Doctor: (Nods, writing down some things.)  Arthur, would you feel comfortable telling myself or King Bonnefoy your experiences in detail? 

England: (Freezes at that, knowing it wouldn’t- it  _ couldn’t _ -end well.)  . . I . . I do not know if I would make it through a verbal rendition of my tale, least of all to Francis. 

Doctor: (Hums.)  . . Perhaps you could express your experiences some other way? I’ve heard of people drawing or painting what happened and how it made them feel, others showing what happened like a dance or a play- demonstrating -or writing it all down and telling someone-

England: (Blinks.)  Writing? 

Doctor: (Knowing she’s latched onto something, she continues with that.)  Yes, much like writing a story. You could include all the thoughts and feelings you recall from events and how they make you feel now. I think such a method may also act as catharsis for you, Arthur.

England: . . I agree. 

Doctor: (Gently smiles.)  Perhaps, for our next meeting- assuming you would like to continue meeting with myself -you could write how you came to be in Hell? Tell the story from the very beginning. Then, when we meet, we can talk about this process and go over what you wrote, alright? 

England: . .  (Nods.) I think . . that would be a good idea. Thank you, Anya. 

Doctor: (Smiles.)  You are very welcome, Arthur. If you have any flashbacks, nightmares, or insomnia, write down when you have them. Try to figure out your triggers and document them. We’ll speak again in a week. 

England: (Gently smiles.)  That sounds wonderful. Is there anything else for today? 

Doctor: (Shakes her head, standing.)  No, I think that will be all for now. Let his majesty know if you would like to keep me as your doctor or if you would like someone else. I would not be offended-

England: (Gently cuts her off as he stands.)  Please, I do not feel that will be necessary. I feel very comfortable with you.  (Smiles kindly.) 

Doctor: (Smiles back happily.)  Wonderful. I will see you in a week, Arthur.  (Shakes the angel’s hand.) Write, if you can. We’ll talk about it next week. 

England: (Nods.)  I will, thank you.  (When she opens the door for him, he goes through, the demon king looking up at him kindly before quickly putting his work away and standing. Arthur gently smiles at the demon.)

France: (Smiles back, offering a hand to the angel.)  Shall we? 

England: (Nods, slipping his hand into Francis’.)  Indeed. (Walks off with the demon, letting Francis lead the way, content to just amble through the halls.) 

France: (Walks with him, quiet for a long while before murmuring kindly.)  How did it go, mon lapin? 

England: It went . . well. Better than I was expecting, after our initial introduction.  (Weak smile.) 

France: (Gently.)  It’s alright, she was more than understanding about the situation. 

England: (Softly.)  I’m grateful that she was. I needed that guidance.  (After a moment of silence.) Francis . . did you ask her to divulge what I tell her to you?  (Looks at the demon worriedly.) 

France: (Eyebrows flit up in surprise and looks back at him.)  Non, Arthur. I did not. Why do you ask?

England: (Bows his head a bit.)  I just don’t want you to be secretly hearing what I tell her. This is difficult enough without worrying about-  (Cuts himself off, sighing.) Forgive me, I’m just . . not ready. 

France: (Gently wraps a wing around the angel, speaking comfortingly.)  Do not worry, mon petit. Everything you tell her is sacred and secret. I promise. 

England: (Leans into Francis.)  Thank you. 

France: (Gently.)  . . Though, the only thing she  _ would _ tell me is if you have been thinking about harming yourself and what could potentially trigger something like that. We both wish only for your safety and healing. 

England: (Nods.)  That is an understandable exclusion. I will accept it. 

France: (Goes to peck the other’s temple, stopping himself before murmuring kindly.)  May I kiss your temple, mon lapin? 

England: . . What if I said no? 

France: (Gently smiles.)  Then I would not kiss you, for you would not wish to be kissed. 

England: (Softly.)  Would you really? 

France:  _ Yes. _ Because you, Arthur Kirkland, have the right to say  _ no.  _

England: (Just slows to a stop before turning and hugging Francis.)   _ Thank you.  _

France: (Holds the angel close with his arms and wings, gently petting through Arthur’s feather’s calmingly. He murmurs.)   _ De rien, _ Arthur. You are safe here. 

England: (Listens, holding tighter. He didn’t want his anxiety to come back. He felt so  _ safe _ in Francis’ arms, shielded by the other’s wings. Like nothing could or would ever hurt him again. Softly, he whispers.)   _ Thank you, thank you . . .  _

France: (Murmurs back quiet French endearments, holding Arthur close to protect him. The little, English angel meant so much to him, even after everything that’s happened-  _ especially _ after everything that’s happened. He wants Arthur to feel safe and happy here, with him. He needs Arthur and he wants nothing but for the angel to be happy in return. After a long while, when Arthur’s calmer and holding on less tightly, he looks down at the angel with a smile.)  Menagerie? 

England: (Blinks up at him for a moment before smiling back, nodding.)  That sounds wonderful. 

France: (Reaches up to brush the other’s bangs from his eyes, smiling happily as he pulls away, offering Arthur an arm.)  

England: (Takes the arm, staying close beside Francis as they continue on with more purpose, going to the menagerie to just relax.) 

France: (Walks with Arthur, gently smiling as they amble through the halls. Entering the menagerie, he holds the door for his angel, the two slowly walking up the path to their happy meadow, the two laying down in the grass. To his absolute happiness, Arthur snuggles up to him, the two just lying there together.) 

England: (Lays his ear over Francis’ heart, calmed by the steady  _ thump-thump _ it made and the other’s slowing breaths. He just breathes in the scents of the menagerie and the lovely warm bread and rose scent that Francis was always covered in, loving everything around him and wishing he could  _ always _ be in the menagerie.) 

France: (Watches Arthur calmly, loving how at peace his angel is. He lays back, comfortable as they both rest in the warm sunlight. Softly.)  May I ask what you two talked about, vaguely? 

England: . . . What do you want to know? 

France: Well, mostly how they two of you will be processing everything. If I can help at all.  (Sweetly.) I’m always here to talk, if you need or want me to listen. 

England: (Softly.)  Thank you, but . . . it’s hard. And . . I just . . I don’t want you to know. 

France: (Gently.)  May I ask at least why?

England: (Is silent for a moment before whispering.)  Because it’s  _ humiliating. _ I don’t want you to ever know just how . . how  _ shameful _ I’ve been . . . .  (Goes silent, head down.) 

France: (Murmurs lovingly.)  It’s hard, I know. . . If you ever need to tell me, I will accept you. I always will, Arthur. 

England: (Lightly trembles, nodding. God, how did he get someone so . . understanding? He’s silent for some time before murmuring.)  Writing. 

France: (Hums questioningly.)  

England: I’m . . going to be writing it. She and I are planning on talking through what I’ve written it next week.

France: (Nods.)  I see. If you need anything- pencils, pens, paper, et cetera -just let me know. I’ll always supply you with what you need.

England: (Kindly.)  Thank you. 

France: De rien . . .  (Gently pets through Arthur’s wings, carefully pulling out the bindings and setting them to the side, Arthur not seeming to notice. Softly with a smile.)  Would you like to fly with me while we wait for our lunch, Arthur? 

England: (Blinks, gently moving his wings,  _ thrilled _ to feel them  _ free. _ So very  _ free. _ He smiles, sitting up and nodding.)  I would love to. 

France: (Grins, standing and taking Arthur’s hand, helping him up. He unfurls his large wings, looking to Arthur to make sure he was ready before taking off in a large rush of air. He looks back to see Arthur pull along right beside him, the angel smiling at him. Oh damn, he loved that smile. The other’s bright eyes, happy and carefree and beautiful. So perfectly beautiful, it made his heart flutter and his stomach feel full of butterflies. How could it not, especially when that happy look was directed at him?)  

England: (Blushes at the adoring stare, looking away shyly, pulling them in a different direction through the menagerie.) 

France: (Flushes a little himself, embarrassed to have been caught staring for so long. He follows, fully extending his wings so the tip of his wing brushes the tip of Arthur’s.) 

England: (Looks back at him with a light blush, the wing-tip glowing lightly for a faint moment.) 

France: (Grins happily.) 

England: (Smiles back sweetly, diving away as they soar around the menagerie.) 

 

*They stay there for a few hours, the two eating their lunch and spending some much-needed time in nature, spending a relaxed afternoon together. Later, when Arthur tries to write, he can’t put down more than two words, having to stop and put it away for the night. He curls up in bed, alone, and tries to go to sleep, just . . bothered. 

England: (Frustrated, he gets up and brings some paper and a pen back to his bed, curling up as he just forces out his thoughts onto paper, grumbling at first as he struggles.)  “I feel” . . . “frustrated. And tired, like I should just go to sleep. I  _ want _ to go to sleep.”  But why won’t I? (Taps his cheek with his pen, thinking.)  . . . “I think the reason why I can’t go to sleep is because I keep thinking about my ‘homework’, of sorts. Having to write out everything and pray to God that my memory is even  _ remotely _ correct is just bothering me. I don’t really want to go through every event. I want to forget it. Surely there are memory-erasing potions that I could make. If I couldn’t remember, it wouldn’t bother me, right? I don’t know, perhaps I’m just stubbornly trying to avoid going through all this again. I know that’s why, which is disappointing. . .”  (Blinks, starting to get a little tired as he writes.) “I just wish I could fast-forward through remembering and dealing with my memories and just . . relax.” (Hums.) “Honestly, I wonder if part of the reason those memories hurt so much now is because I was so numb when it all happened. I’m somewhat appalled every time I think back to what happened after Francois-”  . . . “-did what he did, because I never got to process it. We were thrust into torment immediately after and, despite quietly sobbing my way through those days of torment, I never got a chance to try and let it go. After that, Ryszard just used me, more than anyone, as a  _ plaything _ to toy with and do with as he pleased. I wonder if he was trying to normalize it. Break me until I was brainwashed into thinking I  _ was _ a plaything. I’m so grateful to the Lord that I didn’t lose myself in those months of torture. I’m still me. I’m still Arthur I. Kirkland. And” . . . .  (Rests for a moment, ending up drifting off to sleep, the lights still on and the paper all next to him in the bed.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE!!!!


	19. Episode 19: Practice and Preparation Doesn't Always Suck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS, MY LOVES~!!!!!
> 
> Personally, I love celebrating Christmas, but it tends to get a little crowded when we go to my grandmother's house. As such, this year I was editing W-TF and playing with my adorable--AND NOW TALKATIVE!!!--three year old niece! What holidays do y'all celebrate around this time of year??? Let us know in the comments!! 
> 
> I promise that we're working on AFLF in between holiday stuff!!!!
> 
> Enjoy this new episode of Wind-Tossed Feathers, I hope you enjoy~. 
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference. Any music/videos used are also for reference, and nothing we own unless stated otherwise. We own nothing.
> 
> December 25, 2018  
> 1/1

**** *A couple of days later, in Francis’ study. Arthur sits on the sofa, writing, while Francis does his work. 

England: (Steels himself, getting down to it.) 

_ “The Beginning. It all started in Heaven, when Roderich Edelstein snuck in to retrieve something of his and return to Hell, a new archangel. We, four angels, were the ones to go after him, but when Roderich opened the portal to Hell, we were all sucked into his tailwind, rocketing down into the surface of this putrid realm. We were dazed, but we had orders to bring Roderich home. We fought, for he did not want to return to our realm, until we all froze, the earth trembling below our feet as a dark, evil presence approached. I sensed the power behind it and, soon, we were fighting and killing demons, a hundred a piece, until we were all knocked unconscious. Then, we met  _ **_him._ **

_ “The Slaver Ryszard. A demon so disgusting in every way that made us recoil from him. I did not take him seriously at first, but . . . after he punished me, made me feel pain beyond imagining, I realized how much trouble we were in. He hurt us. Forced us to bear ourselves against our will and stay still as he touched us, violated us, made us cum as he probed us for any abnormalities that would make his job harder. He beat us or tortured us with the shackles, hurting us physically and mentally as he trained us. The beginning wasn’t hard to deal with. It was easy to accept the fact that I would die before we were done. I thought I wouldn’t survive. I was wrong.  _

_ “It wasn’t long before we were chipped and registered in the South East at the A.I.R.O. facility there. That also wasn’t hard to deal with. They were kind to us and talked to us, treating us like we were people too. After we left was when things got harder. Ryszard wasn’t afraid to train us harder and harder, unafraid of A.I.R.O. or anyone else who would tell him to dial it down a little. That bastard tested our patience until-”  _

England: (Stops, slamming the notebook shut before he can get any closer to the  _ really _ bad memories. That was the beginning. That was enough.) 

France: (Looks up worriedly, softly asking.)  Are you alright, mon lapin? 

England: (Breathes, just staring at the cover of the notebook for a few moments before nodding.)  I think so. 

France: (Carefully rises from his desk and comes over, sitting beside Arthur on the sofa, slipping his hand into the angel’s.)  I’m always here, alright?

England: (Gently smiles at Francis, gently squeezing the demon’s hand.)  I know. Thank you. 

France: (Smiles back, asking kindly.)  Would you like to go visit Ardeur and the others with me? 

England: (Nods, setting the notebook aside.)  I would like that, yes. (Stands with Francis, the two walking down to the stables.)  How has your work been going? 

France: (Makes a so-so motion with a hand.)  It has been going. (Chuckles.) My head captain, Monique- have you met Monique?  (At Arthur shaking his head ‘no’.) Well, you’ll absolutely have to meet her soon. She’s been on my case a bit about some things.

England: Oh?  (Looks at Francis curiously.)  Like what? 

France: Nothing too serious, I promise.  (Smiles sweetly.) I’m just a little behind on some work. 

England: (Stops, halting Francis.)  Then you should be working and catching up, not worrying about me.

France: Arthur, everything’s fine. I am the king-

England: -And a king has certain responsibilities, _ I know.  _ I may be an angel- and one that is  _ not _ nobility, by any stretch of the imagination -but I do know that you have a lot of work to do in such a position and cannot shirk- 

France: -I am not shirking anything, I promise, mon petit. I am merely taking a break from it. May I enjoy some time with you to clear my mind awhile?  (Is calm, looking to Arthur expectantly.) 

England: . . . Fine.  (Meets the demon’s gaze very seriously.)  But, Francis, just because I am having issues does not mean you have to drop everything to be at my aid. Alright? 

France: (Amused.)  I may not have to, but I still will. 

England: (Frowns.)  I can manage. I would prefer to not feel like a burden to you here. 

France: Arthur, you are not a burden. I drop everything to help because I want to, not because I feel obligated to.  --  _ *How do you not see it? _

England: You’re still getting  _ behind, _ and the only one to blame is my-

France: - _ Me.  _ The only one  _ I _ have to blame is  _ myself. _ I am not fond of paperwork, mon petit. I  _ despise _ it. And that is, in no way, your fault. That is mine.  (Takes Arthur’s hands.) I will go get caught up after we go to the stables. 

England: (Insistently.)  You  _ promise? _

France: (Nods.)   _ Je promets. _  [I promise.]

England: (Sighs.)  Good. (Keeps one of his hands joined in Francis’ as they continue on, falling silent as they walk down to stables. They walk past stalls on the way to see Ardeur and a few of the minis, Arthur excited to see the creatures again. When passing the stalls, one  _ unfamiliar _ head popped out of one and surprised Arthur, the angel flinching into Francis. The creature was dark and demonic, made of shadow, and had a very peculiarly kind look in its eyes.) 

France: (Gently as he carefully holds the angel’s upper arms comfortingly.)  Easy, easy. . . Are you alright, mon petit? 

England: (Nods slowly, looking intently at the shadowy equine.)  . . . What is that?

France: (Smiles.)  This is a shadkrin. They’re very common creatures from the South East, through here, all the way to the North West. She won’t hurt you, but be careful, s’il vous plait? 

England: Yes, of course.  (Gently pulls away, approaching the creature cautiously. He murmurs to her in another language, a gentle snort coming from the mare. He speaks to Francis.)  What are the shadkrin typically used for?

France: Calvary. Shadkrin- at least, the males -are typically violent creatures. They obey only their rider and mercilessly attack the enemy. Many rely on their shadkrin almost as much as their own weapons in battle. 

England: (Gently, stroking down the mare’s face.)  Are most trained and bonded to their riders, then? 

France: Typically, no, but there absolutely some who have done the liberty of doing so. 

But most are trained simply to obey their rider.  

England: (Nods in understanding.)  Is this one a broodmare? 

France: Oui, she is. The battle shadkrins are kept in a separate area. 

England: (Nods.)  If it eases your mind any, I have no plans to go to that area.  (Glances at Francis.) 

France: (Smiles.)  I appreciate that, Arthur. Merci. 

England: (Softly smiles back, turning his attention back to the shadkrin. He murmurs to her a while longer before patting her broad cheek and going back to Francis’ side, walking on.)  Hell really does have such a vast array of wildlife. 

France: (Nods.)  Oui. Hell is a very large world with many environments and an equally diverse population- in demons  _ and _ in wildlife.  (Jokes.) Though, sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference~.

England: (Smiles, amused.)  I agree. . . (As his mind begins to wander, he ignores it and keeps up the conversation.)  And, yet, there are very civilized demons, such as yourself, wandering about. How is it that there are a vast array in types of demons?

France: (Simply.)  Good breeding and a good upbringing.  (Goes on to explain.) My father and mother were once king and queen of all Hell and both were part wildemon, as well as feudemon. As such, there is virtually no inbreeding in my lineage to hinder intelligence  _ and _ my siblings and I all had quality educations on many subjects. We were raised with the intention that we would be leaders, in one way or another. 

England: (Nods.)  Lower demons are more inbred, then? 

France: (Nods.)  While wildemons tend to be closer to their final forms- in that they can be unpredictable and violent -they are far more intelligent than the lower kind, which are equally unpredictable- but for a different reason. They are simply stupid. 

England: (Hums.)  In other words, those who are cross-bred and have wildemon heritage are intellectually superior to the others? A happy medium, of sorts. 

France: In many ways, oui. Even with the wildemon and feudemon blood, however, the actual wildemons are physically larger and, in some ways, physically superior. It would not be wise to make one your enemy. 

England: (Is a bit apprehensive at that. Tentatively.)  . . Have  _ you _ ever defeated a wildemon in battle? 

France: (Nods.)  Oui, several. (Gently, noticing the shift in Arthur’s attitude.)  You do not need to worry about wildemons, Arthur.  _ Je promets. _ You are safe here. 

England: (Softly.)  Thank you, I appreciate that.  --  _ *I only hope what you say is true . . .  _

*A mini comes out of its nest at the sight of Arthur, chirping at him excitedly.

England: (Smiles, crouching down and speaking kindly to the mini.) 

France: (Smiles fondly at Arthur, crouching as well and offering a hand for the mini to sniff.) 

Mini: (Sniffs the hand before chirping and walking under the hand, enjoying the demon’s kind petting.) 

England: (Murmurs.)  She likes you. 

France: (Gently.)  I don’t know, she definitely seems to enjoy talking to  _ you. _

England: (Kindly.)  It’s not everyday, around here, that an angel- or anyone, really -talks to them. Especially since I actually understand them.

France: (Curiously.)  Can all angels? 

England: (Awkwardly.)  Ah, no. I . . actually don’t know of any other angels who can. Most understand deeper things about creatures- like what they feel and want -but none, to my knowledge, can have a conversation with them.

France: (Smiles brightly.)  That is quite an amazing ability then, non? 

England: (Gently.)  Many just think it’s weird. 

France: Perhaps, but it is still amazing.  (Smiles at Arthur sweetly.) 

England: Thank you.  (Gently pets the mini awhile longer before she scurries back to her nest.) 

France: (Stands, offering the angel a hand to help him up.)  Onwards? 

England: (Takes the hand and nods, standing.)  Yes. I’m sure Ardeur is looking forward to seeing you. 

France: (As they walk.)  Oh? 

England: (Hums affirmatively.)  The last time we saw her, she made it clear to me that you don’t visit her enough. And she’d like more treats, but that one is only so reasonable.

France: (Kindly.)  Does she like when you’re around? 

England: Well, yes, but that’s-

France: (Interrupts.)  Then the two of us shall have to come down here more often to visit her. 

England: (Blinks, a tiny smile stretching across his lips.)  As long as  _ you _ do your work. . . 

France: (Smiles.)  If that is the arrangement, I will make sure I  _ never _ have work to do~! 

England: (Quietly chuckles.)  Good. 

France: (Leans down, murmuring to Arthur before they round the corner to Ardeur’s stall.)  I have sugar in my left pocket, mon petit. Feel free to grab some any time. 

England: (Turns his head a bit towards Francis, smiling kindly at him, unfazed by their faces being mere inches apart.)  I will, thank you. 

France: (Lightly blushes, his eyes shining happily. He pulls back away after a moment, both walking to the kirin together.) 

England: (Smiles, a blush dusted across his own cheeks from before, as he sees the happy and excited kirin. He strokes down her face kindly, looking into her golden eyes happily.)  Hello, darling. How are you today? 

Ardeur: (Excitedly snorts and tosses her head, nudging Arthur’s chest lightly, sniffing for treats.) 

England: (Giggles, rubbing the kirin’s neck happily.)  I’m glad you’re happy, dear. (Gently slips a hand into Francis’ pocket and pulls out a little bit of sugar, lifting it up for the kirin.)  For you. 

France: (Smiles fondly at Arthur interacting with the kirin, completely at ease and unafraid- smiling and laughing, even. The sight was a glorious one and it brought great joy into his heart for the angel. He slipped behind Arthur and wraps his arms around the wonderful little angel, smiling down at him sweetly.)  Mignon. 

England: (Initially tenses up, but he turns his head to meet the other’s gaze, blushing as he smiles back despite his embarrassment.) 

Ardeur: (Nudges them both.  _ Sugar. _ ) 

France: (Laughs, taking some sugar and offering it to his beloved kirin.)  There, is that better, mon beau Ardeur? 

Ardeur: (Munches happily, nuzzling them both.) 

England: (Smiles happily, leaning back into Francis without thinking about it, calm.) 

France: (Smiles just as happily, leaning down to Arthur and murmuring.)  May I kiss your cheek, mon petit? 

England: (Hums, thinking about it for a moment before nodding, tilting his face towards Francis.)  You may. 

France: (Softly kisses Arthur’s cheek, nuzzling him sweetly.)  Merci, Arthur. 

England: (Quietly purrs at the other’s kindness and respect, leaning into the touch to feel the pleasant scratch of the demon’s stubbly beard.) 

France: (Purrs in return, a very, very happy demon. He murmurs.)  You seem much more at ease now. 

England: (Gently.)  Letting go has been helping, even if it is the most trivial part of my story. 

France: (Kindly.)  I’m glad. You deserve to be happy, mon lapin. 

England: (Rests his head on Francis’ shoulder, feeding the kirin another bit of sugar with a soft smile.)   _ *Do I, though? _

France: (Decides to try to keep Arthur’s mind from wandering.)  How about . . after we’re done here, we stop by the library? I can show you a large selection of books about the zoology and ecology of Hell. I feel like you will enjoy them.  (Smiles.) 

England: (Gives Francis a gentle look.)  You promised you’d get your work done, Francis . . . 

France: I  _ will! _ I promised and I  _ will. _  (Puts a hand on his chest.)  On my honor as a king and a gentleman. 

England: (Softly smiles.)  Alright, alright. If you insist . . . 

France: (Chuckles.)  I do. 

England: (Hums happily, continuing to stroke Ardeur’s face and love her up awhile longer before kissing the kirin’s nose and looking to Francis.)  We should go.

France: (Offers Arthur his arm.)  Mademoiselle?

England: (Lightly blushes, taking the arm and tucking close to him.)  Monsieur.

France: (Smiles, leading Arthur up to the library, going over to a section where leaves and animals are carved into the wood of the shelves.)  Since you seem to be interested, here is our section on Hell's zoology.

England: (Smiles, pulling away to look over the books, taking in the encyclopedias of species and the countless specialized volumes about specific species or creatures from specific regions. Gently.)  Thank you, Francis. I truly appreciate this. (Looks at him.) Do you mind if I browse for a couple of minutes and select a few volumes before we return?

France: (Lets Arthur go.)  Go ahead, mon lapin. Take as long as you need.

England: Thank you.  (Slips away, browsing through the shelves and picking out a couple of volumes. He glances over as a demoness enters and strides over to Francis, listening silently.)

Mo: (Bows to her king.)  Your majesty.

France: (Smiles.)  Ah, Captain Bongard. To what do I have the pleasure of your company today?

Mo: (Smiles kindly.)  I only wished to inquire about a couple of things- namely court tomorrow. We previously discussed the appearance of your dear angel-  (Glances to Arthur.) -but you never gave a final answer. Will you be presenting your angel to the court?

France: (Resolutely.)  Non, I think not. The court can wait.

England: (Frowns, stepping away from the shelves and looking to Francis insistently.)  Forgive me, but are you  _ really  _ sure? I  _ am  _ fine with it, you know.

France: (Shakes his head.)  It is better to make them wait than to rush you.

England: (Puts his hand on Francis' arm.)  No it is not. I know you've been nervous about this, but I will be fine.

France: Arthur, your every move, your _every_ ** _breath_** will be watched by at least one hundred demons at all times. Do you truly believe you are prepared for that?

England: (Steels himself, answering with only a beat of hesitation.)   **_Yes._ ** May it be the only  _ good  _ thing that came from . . everything. I am more than competent at dealing with being what someone else wants me to be, Francis.

France: (Something in Francis seems to  _ shift, _ the demon lowkey prowling towards the angel.)  Oh? And you think that you can do that- (He purrs.)   _ -mon lapin? _ That you can curl up at my feet and be content that I'm petting you? That you can sit on my lap and be walked around my throne room on a leash as I visit with my friends and court?

England: (Takes a step towards Francis, shifting in  _ favor  _ of his training. (He knew  _ some  _ of it would come in handy.))  Whatever you  **desire,** _ your majesty. _ I am  **yours.**

France: (Smirks, gently tipping the other's chin up with a long claw.)  . . . (His eyes shift to his captain.) They will see my angel in three days.

Mo: (Nods.)  As you wish. I will make arrangements. Is there anything else I can do for you, your majesty?

England: (Stays still and silent, his eyes locked onto Francis'.)

France: (His eyes go back to Arthur, refusing to look way.)  Send up Cermaka's brother. He needs to make my angel a new dress.

Mo: Of course. I shall take care of it right away, if I am excused?

France: Oui. Leave us.

Mo: (Bows, taking her leave.)

France: (Continues to stare at Arthur.)

England: (Meeting the other's eyes, he tries to hold Francis' stare as long as possible, it only taking a few long moments of intense staring for his gaze to lower, his wings following into submission.)

France: (Takes Arthur's hand, pecking the back of it.)  Do what you must to prepare.

England: (Relaxes, nodding as he tentatively looks up to Francis.)  . . I will. Thank you. (Softly squeezes the demon's hand to reassure himself and the other.)

France: (Softens, gazing at Arthur gently.)  If you need help, you need only ask.

England: (Softly steps forward, leaning against the demon.)  I will. I promise, Francis. Whatever happens, I know you will do what you feel is necessary.

France: (Tentatively.)  Would you like to practice, or just mentally prepare yourself?

England: . . . Practice. Please. And-  (Gently.) And . . be patient, as you are.

France: (Smiles.)  I shall do my best, mon lapin.

England: (Softly smiles back, looking up at him.)  That's all I ask. (After a moment.) How shall we practice, your majesty?

France: I could clear the throne room so we may practice in the real room in private.

England: (Gently.)  I do not wish to be any trouble. . .

France: (Waves a hand dismissively.)  I do not care.

England: . . If that would be alright, it would help, yes.

France: (Offers his arm.)  Come along.

England: (Takes the other's arm, quietly breathing and keeping himself calm as he follows Francis. There would be no one else. Everything was fine.)

France: (Going into the throne room, his tail does a small lash. Francis coolly projects.)  Everyone out.

*Courtiers look up, quickly doing as told, wary of the coldness in Francis' eyes.

France: . . .  (Relaxes.) This is good so far, oui?

England: (Nods, calm.)  Yes, I am alright.

France: (Leads Arthur over to the throne, taking him up the small set of stairs to his chair, Francis sitting casually.)

England: (Leans down, murmuring into Francis' ear.)  Would you like me on your lap or at your feet, your majesty?

France: Take a seat at my feet, s'il vous plait.

England: (Sinks down at the demon's feet, leaning against Francis' legs a bit. His wings minutely shuffle, but he otherwise settles.)

France: (Pets through Arthur's hair, giving it a few tugs every once in awhile to try and tame it.)

England: (Remains relaxed and pliant under the hand, letting Francis pet and tug through it every once in a while. He is completely silent, looking out on the large, empty throne room. In a few days, there would be many demons here- all with their eyes on  _ him. _ )

France: (Quietly.)  Do you want to try the collar and leash tomorrow or today?

England: (Gently.)  We might as well today. This . . isn't that bad . . yet.

France: (Messages Cermaka to bring a collar and leash for Arthur.)

England: (Doesn't look up when she comes in, only leaning into Francis more as a reminder to himself to show favor  _ only  _ to his master.)

CR: (Gives the items to the king before bowing and slipping out.)

France: Would you like to clip it on, or shall I?

England: . . May I, please?

France: (Hands Arthur the collar.)

England: (Takes it, unclipping it and looking it over for several long moments before pulling it around his neck, hesitating before clipping it on. He enjoys the feel far more than other collars he has had to endure in the past, finding it far less threatening.)

France: Is it comfortable?

England: (Gently nods.)  Yes. Far more comfortable than I was expecting.

France: Good, Jakub did his job well.

England: (Hums, tentatively asking.)  . . Does it also bind my powers? (He fingers the metal binding collar around his neck, honestly hating it. (It was ugly to him, and quite uncomfortable.))

France: Oui. Shall I take off the binding collar, leaving you with your new one?

England: (Gently.)  Would you, please?

France: (Removes the metal collar, leaving the new padded leather one on the angel.)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/46467266221/in/dateposted-public/) [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/32594573978/in/dateposted-public/)

England: (Feeling no different, he knows that this second collar also binds his powers, softly sighing. He'd feeling a million times safer  _ with  _ his magic than without, but he'd have to make due with . .  _ trusting  _ Francis.)  . . Thank you.

France: (Gently.)  You are welcome, mon petit. . . . Is it alright if I kiss you?

England: (Blushes, looking up at Francis and softly nodding.)  You may.

France: (Bows down, kissing the angel.)

England: (His wings curl around himself a bit protectively, allowing himself to be kissed, only  _ slightly  _ returning the kiss.)

France: (Grins.)  Very good, Arthur. I may need to touch you beyond petting, for our little show.

England: (Steadies his breathing, trying to keep himself calm and on matters at hand  _ right now. _ )  C-could we talk about what you're planning?

France: Of course, Arthur. Anything to make it so we can do this.

England: (Nods.)  Thank you. (Looks up at him, listening. He'll judge whether or not he thinks it's a good idea.)

France: I may need to pet up and down your body- these are the things that are going to be the most extreme, but -tease your perky little nipples, trace down your back, and massage that perfect little ass of yours.

England: (His face is pink at the end of the list, nodding slowly.)  . . I . .  _ think  _ that will be alright.

France: Shall we practice that tomorrow?

England: (Quietly exhales, nodding.)  Yes, that would be helpful.

France: I do not want to push you, mon petit, but the court can be . . demanding.

England: (Shivers at that.)  Demanding . . how?

France: (Sighs dismissively.)  Oh, you know, that I be dominant and strong and the typical, "alpha's alpha". Getting all of the submissives and switches and banging them all well into the night, yet claiming none of the bastards I sired. To take what I want when I want. That sort of thing.  (Waves his hand loosely.)

England: (Shivers more, head down.)  . . You . . you're not planning on . . . ?  --  _  *THAT? You're not going to do that, right? Please say no, please . . . _

France: (Looks appalled.)  Of course not! I would not do that to you.

England: (Gives a shuddering sigh, relieved. He rests his head against Francis' knees, murmuring.)  Good, good . . .

France: (Smiles, petting through Arthur's hair comfortingly.)

England: (Leans into the gentle hand minutely,  _ so fucking glad _ Francis doesn't intend to do anything horrible to him. Yes, it would be stressful, but it didn't have to destroy him. It would be okay.)

France: I'm going to pick you up. I'll stroke over your shoulders before doing this.  (He strokes one of Arthur's shoulders, then gently picking the angel up to sit him on his lap.)

England: (Settles in Francis' arms, tucking close to him. He can't help but tense, feeling distrustful and wary even as he tries to trust Francis and relax and let  _ this  _ demon protect him.)

France: (Deep,  _ DEEP  _ in Francis chest, the demon starts humming a tuneless melody to try and settle the angel down\\.)

England: (Listens, his hand lightly on Francis' forearm as he leans against the demon's chest to absorb the gentle vibrations, breathing deeply and steadily. He slowly calms, settling in the demon's arms in a relaxed, feathered lump.)

France: (Pecks the tops of Arthur's head gently.)

England: (Looks up at him for a moment before burrowing in, murmuring.)  Thank you . . thank you . . .

France: (Softly.)  You are welcome, mon lapin.

England: (Whispers.)  I'm sorry this is becoming such an ordeal. I really didn't mean for it to be-

France: (Gently shushes Arthur.)  It is alright. I want to help you in any way I can.

England: (Softly nods, reassured that he'd not being a burden. Murmurs.)  I'm alright to continue.

France: (Hums, petting up and down Arthur's thigh, making it an absent, pondering motion.)

England: (His legs tense a bit, but he still continues to calmly breathe,  _ knowing  _ he wasn't in danger.)

France: (Just continues to pet Arthur's leg.)

England: (Doesn't move, focused on the other's calloused hand against his thigh. After a few moments of being tense, he lays a hand over Francis' to still the demon's hand, just keeping it there to get used to it, beginning to relax.)

France: (He lets Arthur control their interactions, going at the angel's pace.)

England: (Gently strokes his thumb over the other's hand, getting used to the weight and feeling on his thigh as he slowly relaxes. After a few moments, he slowly moves their hands, softly nodding as he remains relaxed. It takes a little while, but he eventually releases Francis' hand completely, letting the demon continue as he will.)

France: (Gently pets, carefully drawing a circle with the tip of his finger.)

England: (His eyes subtly follow the other's finger, but he stays otherwise relaxed in Francis' hold.)

France: (Wanders his hand up and down Arthur's thigh before hugging his angel around his waist.)

England: (Softly smiles, leaning back into the embrace. Feeling Francis' soft and warm breath against the back of his neck, he suddenly tenses, his mind flashing to a very  _ different  _ lap he sat on once, struggling with a soft whine as he whispers.)   _ Let go, please. _

France: Arthur, please stay here for a few seconds. You can do this, I believe in you. Focus on breathing and steadying your heart. It will help, I swear it.

England: (Shudders, whining desperately as he grabs Francis' hands, trying to just  _ breathe  _ and forget- but  _ remember  _ **_where he is._ ** His wings curl around himself, clinging to the demon as he reassures himself repeatedly.)   _ *I'm safe, I'm safe . . _ .

France: (Gently.)  Arthur, where are you?

England: (Trembles, taking a few deep breaths before shakily replying.)  H-here. The . . the throne room. With you.

France: And who am I?

England: (Hesitates before whispering.)  F-Francis. Francis Bonnefoy.

France: Very good, mon lapin. And how are  _ you  _ feeling?

England: (Eyebrows furrow, not sure how to respond to that right away.)  . . B-better. (Stalls, thinking as he tries to slow his breathing and deepen his breaths.)  Stressed. But . . better.

France: (Gently.)  And why did you panic?

England: (Tenses, shrinking a bit as he shakes his head.)

France: (Pouts.)  You can tell me, I won't be mad or disappointed. I want to make it so I can avoid any triggers.

England: (Thinks, removing as many details from it as possible without making it pointless.)  I- I'm okay with being held, it's just . . I couldn't see you. A-and . . I could feel your breath against my neck. It just . . reminded me of something I don't want to remember or think about.  (He gently holds Francis' hands.) Thank you. For calming me.

France: (Gently shifts Arthur so the angel can see Francis from the corner of his eye easily.)  Is that better?

England: (Glances at Francis, softly smiling as he nods.)  Yes. That's a lot better, Francis.

France: I'll remember to always hold you like this, then.

England: (Blinks slightly in surprise, wondering if Francis will actually remember. Even so, the commitment was extremely endearing, the angel appreciating the sentiment and care immensely.)  . . Thank you.

France: (Purrs.)  You are welcome~.

England: (His eyes slightly brighten, loving the other's sweetness. He softly purrs, shuffling his wings as he relaxes there in Francis' arms.)

France: May I pet your wings?

England: (Looks at him a moment before releasing Francis' hands, nodding.)  You may, carefully.

France: (Does so, fawning over their softness and beauty.)

England: (Blushes as he sees the look of admiration in Francis' eyes. He shifts his wings out slightly, giving him more wing to look at.)

France: (Cuddles the angel.)  So beautiful and cute and wonderful~.

England: (Flushes more, his wings curling around to cover his embarrassingly pink face as he leans into the cuddles.)

France: (Adds mischievously.)  And  _ English~. _

England: (Snorts quietly, muffled giggles coming from under the feathers. He peeks out.)  What's wrong with  _ that? _

France: Non, nothing is wrong with that. It simply means you are my little English muffin.

England: (Flushes, wiggling a little away as he mutters.)  . .  _ Little English muffin _ . . . You're very  _ French. _

France: Oui, I  _ am. _ I happen to be an  _ expert  _ at  _ French  _ kissing.

England: (His wings bunch out an inch or two in surprise, replying.)  W-well, I do not wish to confirm your expertise. --  _  *Yet- NO. Not ever. Absolutely never.  _  (He continues scolding his traitorous mind.)

France: (Laughs, carefree.)  Do not worry, I have no plans to show you.

England: (Remains relaxed, enjoying just joking with the demon. He chuckles, smiling at the demon with the tiniest bit of mischief mixed in.)  Good. I'd hate to be  _ disappointed. _

France: (Gapes.)  I have never left  _ anyone  _ disappointed.

England: (Laughs fully and joyfully.)  Oh yes, I'm absolutely  _ sure  _ that's true . . .

France: Oui, it is!

England: (Hums skeptically.)  Sure . . .

France: Hmph!  (Mutters to himself.)  Snarky angel.

England: (Softly smiles at him, leaning into Francis sweetly.)  Shh.

France: (Snuggles the SNARKY angel.)

England: (Snuggles back gently, smiling sweetly.)

France: (Pecks the top of Arthur's head.)

England: (Softly purrs, accepting the peck. (Even though it technically broke their promise, he was alright with it. It was non-invasive and sweet and he liked it.))

France: May we add head and forehead pecks to your list?

England: (Murmurs.)  I think that will be alright, Francis.  (Smiles at him sweetly.)

France: Merci.

England: (Softly.)  De rien. Thank you for being so kind and patient with me. I appreciate it more than you know.

France: (Purrs.)  I am glad you are healing, mon lapin.

England: (Nestles into Francis.)  It's slow, but . . there is progress.

France: Just one step at a time. You will make it.

England: (Nods, murmuring.)  At this rate . . I believe you. I wasn't so sure, but . . I believe you now.

France: (Smiles softly.)  Bon.

England: (Quietly purrs for a little while before asking.)  Is there anything else you'd like to do today?

France: (Sighs.)  I should do some work . . but I don't want to . . .

England: (Softly smiles at Francis.)  You promised you would, remember? Let's go back to your study so you can work, alright?

France: (Whines.)  But I don't want to~!!!

England: (Gently takes Francis' hands and stands, pulling.)  I know. The work is hard and horrible, but it will be worth it in the end, I promise.

France: (Sighs, picking up Arthur and trudging towards his study.)

England: (Hangs onto the demon, softly pecking his cheek.)  It'll be alright.

France: (Siiiiiighs.)

England: (Gently purrs, trying to comfort Francis as they go up to his study.)

France: Where would you like to go? Your room, or stay with me?

England: (Gently.)  Stay with you.

France: (Smiles, pecking Arthur's head.)

England: (Softly purrs, glad Francis is alright with that.)

France: (Nuzzles Arthur's fluffy hair lovingly.)

England: (Feeling the other's kind, sweet love, he nestles closer, absorbing the wonderful feeling happily.)

France: (Using his tail, he opens the door to his study.)  Do you want to be on my lap or a chair, mon lapin?

England: (Tentatively.)  . . Would I be in the way on your lap?

France: Non~.

England: (Lightly blushes, murmuring.)  Then may I?

France: (Quietly squees, sitting down in his chair with Arthur on his lap.)  Comfortable? I have a pillow nearby if not~.

England: (Nestles in, lightly shaking his head.)  I'm alright. Get your work done, Francis. (Relaxes, curling up in Francis' lap.)

France: (Cuddles Arthur for a solid minute before finally getting to his paperwork.)

England: (Rests, at ease as his heart releases its burdens and allows himself to be comfortable and happy. Did it matter that Francis was a demon and 'owned' him? Not then. Not when Francis' steady heartbeats and breaths slowly lulled him into safety, pushing aside his anxieties.)

France: ( . . . Doing his paperwork, Francis  _ notices. _ He notices Arthur's calm, and suddenly . . paperwork isn't so bad anymore. Not if he has a soft, warm, cute little angel in his lap, who could now relax and be at  _ peace  _ in his arms.)

England: (Watches Francis write for a while before letting his eyes sink shut, lightly dozing. He was okay.)

France: (Softly purrs, still doing his work.)

England: (Stays like that for a long time, his eyes softly opening when he feels Francis' arms wrap around him and still, unlike when he was working. He softly murmurs.)  Done?

France: (Sighs tiredly.)  Oui.

England: (Pecks Francis' stubbled jaw sweetly.)  Good. Now you don't need to worry about it anymore. . .

France: (Huffs, burying his face in Arthur's shoulder.)

England: (Nuzzles him, bringing a wing up to wrap around Francis.)

France: How are you so perfect to cuddle?

England: (Quietly laughs.)  From what I hear, that's most demon's reaction to cuddling an angel.

France: Because it's  _ true. _

England: (Softly smiles.)  I think it's because of our size and our wings.

France: And you all smell so wonderful~.

England: (Snorts at that.)  Now you just sound silly.

France: (Pouts.)  But you do smell perfect,  _ mon lapin. _

England: I simply smell as I do.  (Quirks an eyebrow at him.)

France: (Sniffs his hair, enjoying Arthur's scent.)

England: (Can't help but breathe in Francis' scent as well, enjoying how rich and  _ warm  _ it was. Not that he'd say that out loud. . . )

France: (Puuuurrrrrrrrrrrrsssssss.)

England: (Purrs as well, but quieter. He gently rubs his face against Francis' shoulder, nuzzling right into his neck and collar.)

France: Would you mind if we cuddled on my bed?

England: (Wraps his arms around the back of Francis' neck.)  As long as you carry me.

France: Gladly, mon chere~.  (He picks up the angel, carrying him into his bedroom and laying him down, just taking a second to look at the adorable angel.)

England: (Blinks as Francis looks at him, unsure as his wings curl a bit around himself and he starts to slip back and away.)

France: (Blushes, bashful.)  Sorry, sorry . . .you are just so beautiful and cute . . it is like looking at a piece of art. I cannot help but stop and admire you.

England: (Eyes widen, his whole face flushing in embarrassment. He covers his face with his hands and wings, speechlessly unable to come up with a response to that.)

France: (Carefully sits down, petting through Arthur's hair.)  Let me see you, s'il vous plait?

England: ( . . . Peeks out, his lightly freckled cheeks still pink.)

France: (Purrs, pecking an adorable little cheek.)

England: (Huffs, leaning against that stupid, stupid demon. He mumbles softly.)  . . Why do you always exaggerate?

France: (Puzzled.)  What are you talking about? Nothing I just said was an exaggeration. I admit,  (He chuckles.) I am a little confused as to what you are talking about.

England: (Murmurs.)  Your words are equally as flamboyant as yourself, Francis. You've referred to me as being like art multiple times now and . . I just don't . . understand  _ why. _ I understand you think I'm beautiful, but why exaggerate like you do?

France: . . .  (His brows knit.)  . . . I am not exaggerating? I am telling you how  _ I _ see you.

England: (Keeps his face out of Francis' view, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks about that for a couple of moments. That information . . . was complicated. And he isn't sure if he believes it or not. He hums in response, saying nothing.)

France: (Lays down next to Arthur, pulling him in close to snuggle him.)

England: (Snuggles with him, sighing as he relaxes. Softly.)  You confuse me, Francis . . .

France: And you make me happy. Your point, mon petit?

England: (Shakes his head.)  No point. It was just a statement.

France: (Hums, pulling the angel in and snuggling him.)

England: (Sighs, nuzzling into Francis' chest comfortably. What a strange demon . . so sweet and kind and somehow almost not . . demonic. It was nice. Gently.)  You make me happy too.

France: (THUNDEROUS PURRING OF GREAT JOY.)

England: (Softly smiles, purring as well as he wraps his wings around himself and Francis, cuddling him close.)

France: (Pets through Arthur's hair.)  Do you want me to order food? Or do you want to sleep? Or just cuddle?

England: (Gently.)  Food and cuddle?

France: (Snuggles Arthur.)  Oui. Food and cuddling. (Pauses.)  How do you feel about having coq au vin?

England: (Smiles, purring.)  I like the sound of that~.

France: (Smiles.)  I'll have it sent up.  (He messages the kitchen, ordering their food.)  It will be up in a few minutes.

England: Sounds good.  (Nestles into Francis' chest, cuddling the demon comfortably.)

France: Would you like supper in bed? We can, if you want.

England: (Thinks a moment before shaking his head.)  Not particularly, but if you'd like to . . ?

France: (Hums.)  . . Maybe the couch instead? Still very comfy, but we'll be more upright and won't need to worry about spills as much.

England: (Softly smiles, nodding.)  That sounds much better.

France: Shall I ferry you over, mon lapin?

England: (Chuckles, sitting up and brushing his hair- which has been steadily coming out of its binds and falling into his face -back with a soft smile.)  No, it's alright this time.

France: (Francis stands, holding out a hand to Arthur to assist him up.)

England: (Takes the hand and stands, just casually holding the hand and keeping close to the demon.)  . . . What's your favorite fruit, Francis?

France: Pears, though I also like apples, cherries, and grapes, of course. What are yours, mon petit?

England: Cherries, but also apples, strawberries and plums.  (Softly smiles.) Do you prefer your apples firm and tart or soft and sweet?

France: Soft and sweet. Et t- vous?

England: Also soft and sweet, but I do enjoy a tart apple from time to time.

France: Only as part of a treat, like a pie, will I have a sour apple.

England: (Nods.)  That is completely understandable.

France: (Smiles as the food comes in.)  I hope you enjoy it, mon petit.

England: (Gently.)  As do I. (Already smelling the dish, he smiles, looking forward to eating with Francis. He thanks the servant kindly as their food it set before them on the low table, taking in the fragrances of the meal and the wonderful sight of it all.)

France: (Begins eating, quite hungry.)

England: (Eats as well, taking it gentle and slow, savoring the meal happily. (Of everything in the South West, he enjoyed the food the most.))

France: (Wraps a wing around Arthur, snuggling the angel as they eat.)

England: (Softly smiles, leaning against Francis and snuggling him back as he eats happily. He's about eighty percent through his own plate when he slows to a stop,  _ really _ not wanting to make himself sick from eating more than he could handle. Instead, he rests calmly against the demon.)  This is wonderful, Francis.

France: (Fondly.)  I am glad that you enjoyed it. It is one of my favorite dishes.

England: (Looks up at him sweetly.)  I can certainly see why. It's delicious.

France: (Purrs proudly, eating happily.)

England: (Purrs softly as well, eventually setting down his dish and curling up in Francis' wing, quiet and patient.)

France: (Kisses the top of the angel's head.)

England: (Smiles up at him sweetly, nuzzling his shoulder. He gently pulls Francis' wing more around him like a blanket, stroking over the soft, white leather.)

France: (Pets through Arthur's hair.)

England: (Relaxes into the hand, just softly purring.)

France: (Nuzzling Arthur's head, Francis pulls the angel gently onto his lap.)

England: (Nuzzles close to him, his wings curling a bit around the demon as they snuggle.)

France: You are so adorable, mon lapin.

England: (Murmurs.)  And you're very sweet.

France: (Purrs.)  Thank you.

England: (Purrs as well, hugging Francis around the middle.)  You're welcome.

France: (Beams. Solidly just  _ beams. _ )

England: (Murmurs.)  Done eating?

France: Oui.  (Calls for a servant to take the food away.)

England: (Looks up at him, innocently asking.)  Bed?

France: (Picks Arthur back up, taking him back to bed and forcibly snuggling him.)

England: (Willingly cuddles, purring happily as he nestles in comfortably.)  Thank you~.

France: ( _ Snuggles. _ )

England: (Softly smiles, relaxing and holding the demon close, comfortable.)

France: (Traces down Arthur's body with his hands, his tail loosely wrapping around Arthur's ankle.)

England: (While some movements make him lightly tense up, Francis' touches are calming for the most part, the angel lightly dozing off.)

France: (Purrs. He needs to get Arthur ready for his court. Otherwise- he's worried how this will affect his angel.)

England: (Isn't even thinking about court or his therapy or anything like that, just . . happy and comfortable for the first time in months. (Would it  _ really _ hurt him to forget it all and just . . let go? Relax and accept life how it was, in Hell?))


	20. Episode 20: Rumor Has It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We've been working on W-TF lately, so I figured it was time to upload another chapter! Hope you guys enjoy!  
> (Happy late Valentine's day!!!)
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference. Any music/videos used are also for reference, and nothing we own unless stated otherwise. We own nothing.
> 
> February 16, 2019  
> 1/1

*The two remain together that night, snuggled together in bed, and spend part of the morning together before both separate off to prepare for the day, the two having more plans for practice in the throne room.

England: (Sits in his room, mostly calm as he gets his appearance together for their day of training, preparing himself accordingly. Wearing shorter clothes, he hope the touches to his bare skin will prepare him for whatever outfit he is put in when the day comes.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/33240416398/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Knocks on Arthur's door.)  Are you ready, mon lapin?

England: (Promptly comes out, nodding as he looks to Francis.)  I'm ready.

France: (Smiles down at Arthur.)  You look tres adorable, mon petit.  (He pecks the angel's cheek, taking his hand.)

England: (Softly smiles, a bit nervous. Yesterday had been easier, but . . he wasn't sure how today was going to go.)  Thank you.

France: Do not worry, I have your leash in my pocket.

England: (Nods.)  Good, good. . .

France: (Leads Arthur down to the throne room, dismissing the demons inside. Inside, he clips the leash to Arthur's collar.)

England: (Stays silent and obedient, tilting his head so the leash can be clipped on easily. He stays close to Francis, his wings minutely lowered in submission.)

France: (He brushes a hand through Arthur's hair.)  Good angel.

England: (Keeps his eyes down, softly and quietly purring.)

France: (Gently pulls on Arthur's leash, leading the angel to the throne, where the king sits down.)

England: (Smoothly sits at the king's feet and leans against Francis' legs, peering up at the demon.)

France: (Gently scritches Arthur's scalp.)  You are alright down there, mon petit?

England: (Lightly leans into the hand.)  Yes . . I'm alright.

France: (Gently.)  Bon. Are you ready for our practice, mon lapin?

England: (Nods, looking up at Francis.)  I'm ready.

France: (Pats his lap.)  Up, mon lapin.

England: (Smoothly slides up into Francis' lap, keeping the demon within sight as he leans back against him.)

France: (Immediately nuzzles Arthur's neck.)

England: (Stiffens a bit, lightly shivering at the touch.)

France: (Continues slowly nuzzling the side of the angel's neck.)

England: (Takes a deep breath,  _ slowly _ calming his tense, anxious heart.)

France: (He keeps nuzzling long after Arthur has calmed. When he feels the other's heartbeat even out, Francis gives the pale column a tentative nibble.)

England: (Quietly gasps, but he tentatively leans into it, keeping Francis in the corner of his vision at all times.)

France: (Carefully keeps going.)

England: (Lightly trembles, kind of half-enjoying it and half-frightened from past experience.)

France: (Sliding a hand up the angel's waist, Francis pulls the angel in tighter to himself.)

England: (Puts a hand over the one at his waist, lightly gripping the hand as he quietly whimpers.)

France: (Breathes into Arthur's ear.)  You're doing well, Arthur.

England: (Softly nods, focusing on taking deep, full breaths. He gently strokes his thumb over Francis' hand, relaxing.)

France: (After a few moments, Francis asks.)  Are you ready for more?

England: (Slowly nods, breathing much more calmly despite his nerves.)

France: (Feels up. DAT. BOOTY. Lightly giggles.)   _ Honhonhon~. _

England: (Jumps a little at first, but he just shifts under the hands, feeling  _ far _ more trusting than he wants to be.)

France: (Continues worshipping that tight little booty.)

England: (Just shifts from time to time under the hands, tentatively purring.)

France: (Massaging the globes in his hands, Francis marvels at how perfect they are. So soft with plenty of squish, yet still has a fair bit of firmness to them.)

England: (Just wonders how long Francis is planning on doing this. (Despite having been groped before, it didn't feel as invasive. Francis' hands had a very  _ distinct _ feel to them that was very unlike anyone that had previous touched him like that.))

France: (GROPES. Mildly.)  Would you stand, s'il vous plait? And bend over, of course.

England: (Minutely frowns at the implications of that request.)  Depends. What are your plans?

France: I need a closer look at your derriere.

England: (Doesn't enjoy the vague answer, but he stands and bends over at the waist.)  Please don't do anything . .  _ too _ violating.

France: Oui, but of course . . . ~  (He brings his hands up, squeezing and kneading the globes while watching how they squish in his hands, like two lovely little sweet buns.)

England: (Just blushes as Francis continues to play with his ass.)

France: . . .  (Bites Arthur's butt mischievously.)

England: A-ah!  (Looks back at Francis, moving forward and  _ away, _ a bit alarmed.)  What are you doing?

France: (Licks his lips.)  Taking a bite out of a sweet bun~.

England: (Flushes, his wings shifting over his ass.)  Pardon, but please don't.

France: Honhonhon~. Spread your legs and sit on my lap, Arthur.

England: . . .  (Frowns a bit, but asks softly.)  Facing you or the room?

France: The room, s'il vous plait.

England: ( . . Tentatively returns and sits on Francis' lap, doing as he was asked.)

France: (Nestles his chin on Arthur's shoulder, making sure to meet his eye.)

England: (Glances back at him hesitantly, appreciating that Francis has always tried to stay within his view.)

France: (Brushes the pads of his fingers teasingly across Arthur's abdomen.)

England: (Puts his hands over Francis' near-instantly, tensing. He murmurs, looking back at the demon.)  . . Please, promise me you won't . .  _ do _ anything to me. Please, Francis.

France: Do not worry, mon petit. I won't touch you there. Perhaps a single trace over fabric, but that is the most I will do. I promise.

England: (Softly sighs in relief, taking a moment before turning fully and pecking Francis' cheek, not meeting the demon's eyes as he turns back to face the room.)  Thank you. That means a lot to me. (Takes a deep breath before gently releasing Francis' hands, letting the demon do as he will.)

France: (Purrs, his hands dancing up and down Arthur's ribs and waist.)

England: (Gently leans back, forcing himself to trust Francis- which was becoming increasingly less difficult to do as they continued to practice. He puts a hand on Francis' hip, gently encouraging the demon that he was alright with this as it was.)

France: (Smirking, he nibbles up and down Arthur's neck, brushing the angel's hair to the side.)

England: (Bares his neck to the demon somewhat easily, keeping silent as he softly sighs at a particularly pleasurable nibble.)

France: ( _ PURSUES THE PLEASURED SIGH. _ )

England: (Lightly gasps, glancing back at Francis while silently cursing himself for letting out  _ any _ form of a pleasured noise.)

France: ( _ VICTORY. _ )

England: (Quietly whines, not really wanting to get sexed up right now. Especially since it is . . actually . . a little . . nice.)

France: (Marks up Arthur's neck, making sure to leave a few good hickies.)

England: (Hates himself a little for enjoying it so damn much, blushing horribly as Francis marks his pale neck.)

France: (As promised, he carefully traces over Arthur's erection as he mostly pays attention to the angel's neck.)

England: (Uncomfortably shifts, thinking of things other than what Francis is doing because he  _ really _ doesn't want to talk about this later and be confronted with  _ any of it. _ )

France: (Gently presses his claws into the other's thigh.)

England: (Lightly tenses at the claws, shifting his leg a bit farther away from them.)

France: (Gently hushes Arthur.)  It is alright, mon lapin.

England: (Lightly shifts, still quite uncomfortable. Softly.)  Sorry, sorry. . .

France: (Kisses Arthur's cheek soothingly.)

England: (Leans back into Francis, keeping him close as he slowly settles, still uneasy, but getting better.)

France: (Ruffles Arthur's hair affectionately.)

England: (Takes a deep breath, murmuring.)  Forgive me, I'm . . I'm alright now.

France: Bon.  (Hugs his angel around his waist.)

England: (Relaxes in the hug, knowing he was okay. Everything was okay.)

France: (HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.)

England: (Shifts, turning in Francis' lap to hug the demon back, holding him close, glad for the patience.)

*They practice for a few more hours before Francis leaves Arthur in the angel's own room, needing to take care of business. Arthur is sitting down when a knock comes at the door.

England: (Looks to the door, calling out.)  Come in! (He stands, unsure of who is there.)

*A hooded messenger comes in.

Messenger: A message for the South West King's angel.

England: (Hums, walking to the messenger.)  That would be me. The message?

Messenger: (Pulls out a slip of paper and a small box.)  Sign the paper, please. The title I was given to call you.

England: (Takes the paper and the pen handed to him, signing as requested before handing the paper back and taking the small box.)  Thank you kindly.

Messenger: (Leaves as mysteriously as he came.)

England: (Hums curiously as he sits down on his bed with the mysterious small box, wondering who it was from- and having a few ideas. He carefully opens the box to reveal a few feathers, a woven bracelet, and a note, smiling as he instantly recognizes who it's from. He removes the contents, setting the feathers in his lap as he reads over the note, fingering the bracelet curiously.)

*NOTE: _ "If you ever wish to talk, touch the purple then the widest band." _

England: (Smiles, looking over the bracelet. He wonders for a few moments if he would be bothering Roderich at such a time if he called, but he eventually touches the purple and then the widest band, just as the note instructed, hoping he wasn't.)

Austria: (Flowing letters glide across the band.)  'Hello, Arthur.'

England: (Softly smiles as he reads the message and responds.)  'Hello, Roderich. It's good to hear from you again. Is all well in the South?'

Austria: 'Yes, it is. And how are you doing? I know being down here can be overwhelming, at times.'

England: (Takes a couple of moments to respond.)  'It's been very stressful, unfortunately. Francis has been both helpful and very, very  _ unhelpful, _ at times, which has left me in an unsure state about him. For the most part, he is how you described, if frustrating.'

Austria: 'I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help? I can answer some of your questions, if you want.'

England: 'It's not really that I have  _ questions _ about him, he's just so . . odd. He is good company, I'll admit. I just wonder if my feelings of unease towards him is just . . me. Do you know what I mean?'

Austria: 'I do. I wonder that now, after going through what we did with that slaver. Is it just me, or am I uneasy because they are demons? However, I am curious. I heard through rumors that you are being presented to the court of the South West?'

England: 'Unfortunately, it is not just a rumor. The day after next, I will be presented to the court and nothing has terrified me more since coming here. Francis and I have spent the last couple of days practicing and preparing so I won't make him look bad, especially since I'm the one who insisted I be presented. Which was completely stupid, but Francis was starting to put it off and it's obviously been worrying him and weighing down on him.'

Austria: 'That's very kind of you to help him and consider his position. With Antonio, I didn't really care.'

England: 'Francis has been more than kind and patient with me lately, so I felt it would be best to help him. I didn't want to cause any problems or further frustrations.'

Austria: 'Just take a deep breath and focus on King Francis. You should do fine.'

England: 'I hope you're right, Roderich. I really do. I don't want to mess this up.'

Austria: 'I'm willing to answer questions.'

England: 'Well, what happened when  _ you _ were presented to the South court?'

Austria: 'I have been to court a few times. Typically I sit at Antonio's feet or in a perch over his head and survey the demons. Depending on what Antonio needs, I am either a submissive pet, or an attack angel- or at least, give the appearance of an attack angel. A few times, however, he's played with me.'

England: 'How so, if you're willing to elaborate?'

Austria: 'Well, when I betrayed him, he made me dance for him and his court in a nearly nude fashion. He treated me like a dog. I was completely his to command. Though there has been a time or two when he's played with me sexually. Usually he faces me towards him and strokes me off to keep up appearances that I am his. Other times, he merely just teases me.'

England: (Nods to himself.)  'I see. While we've talked about teasing, I know- and I'm very relieved -that Francis does not intend to go to the extreme when we go to court. Though I will be curious to see  _ how _ it is I will be treated once we are in front of the court. Any general suggestions?'

Austria: 'If anyone touches you besides Francis, tap him to let him know immediately. Don't show too much interest in anyone and be detached from the scene. I recommend only attaching yourself to Francis while in court.'

England: 'Really focus on Francis and him alone. That is very helpful, thank you.'

Austria: 'It really is more . . grounding, I suppose, to focus on one person while in court. It can be overwhelming, at times, with so many staring and watching your every move'.

England: 'Honestly, all the demons there is what frightens me the most, not even the prospect of what Francis may do or what would happen if I ruined everything. Do you have any suggestions on ways to block out or ignore the court?'

Austria: 'I'm afraid I might not be able to help you in  that area. For me, . . I am always watching and listening to Antonio. I'm watching his cues and how he interacts with whatever demon is before him. To see how much he hates or trusts the demon speaking with him, and I focus completely on my king. I count his breaths and heartbeat, and pay attention to his fingers as they pet through my hair, telling me what he needs me to do so he may stay content.'

England: (Takes the information in carefully, letting it linger.)  'I think I understand what you mean, as well as how to apply it. Thank you.'

Austria: 'You are welcome, my friend.'

England: (Gently smiles.)  'Roderich, you are centuries younger than I, yet your wisdom is boundless. I'm very grateful to consider you- and be considered -a friend.'

Austria: 'Thank you. . . . Don't be surprised if you're basically naked, when you are presented.'

England: 'Thank you, I'll try not to be too appalled by it. As long as he doesn't strip me in front of them all, I think I'll be alright, if a little grumpy later.'

Austria: 'Good luck to you, Arthur.'

England: 'I will need it, thank you. Out of curious, how are you and your husbands fairing? I have wondered if time has been kind to you in letting everything from the past months go.'

Austria: ' . . Not quite. I hate leaving our hall. I can barely stand it.'

England: 'I'm very sorry to hear that. I hope your demons are alright to be around and patient with the situation?'

Austria: 'Yes, which I am grateful for. I suppose I'll let you rest, unless you need any other further questions answered?'

England: 'No, I believe I'll be alright. I hope both our minds calm from what has happened so we may move on in the near future and be at peace.'

Austria: 'I as well. Goodbye, until next time.'

England: 'Until next time, my friend. I will let you know how everything goes at court.'

Austria: 'Thank you, and please do.'

*With that, their communication cuts out, ending their conversation.

England: (He carefully puts the feathers and note back into the box, sliding it under his bed before slipping on the bracelet. The next couple of days were going to be rough, but he committed Roderich's advice to heart, intending on  _ not _ fucking everything up. Hopefully.)

 

*Two days later: The day of court. Arthur spends an hour, alone, in preparation before his clothes are sent up to him, the angel dressing and fixing his hair while he waits for Francis. He shifts, glad there isn't even  _ less _ clothing on him, but still uncomfortable with how much leg is being shown. (Honestly, he was more upset about the little article  _ underneath _ his clothing.) Regardless, it would be fine. He felt prepared for this, grateful that they had practiced the past few days when they could.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/47115769791/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Comes in.)  Are you ready, mon lapin?

England: (His wings shuffle, looking over himself once more before turning to Francis and nodding, despite how uncomfortable he was in the extremely short clothing.)  Yes . . I'm ready, my king.

France: (Smiles down at him.)  I got you a new collar that will better match your outfit. Tilt your head for me, s'il vous plait?

England: (Tilts his head up obediently, intrigued by the prospect of a  _ different _ collar.)  Thank you.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/33240416608/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Puts it on Arthur, stroking it fondly.)  Gold metal on the outside, yet padded leather on the inside. Do you like it?

England: (Softly smiles at Francis, glancing at a reflection of himself as he moves in it, nodding after a few moments.)  It's very beautiful, as well as comfortable.

France: (Clips the leash to it.)  I am glad that you do. (Gives a tiny pull on it.)  Now come along.

England: (Follows obediently, staying close to Francis. Gently.)  Francis, would you like me first at your feet or on your lap when you go to your throne? Or do you wish to indicate to me when the time comes?

France: I'll let you know, mon petit.  (His tail swishes sedately, eager about their little show.)

England: (Falls silent after that, just very, very nervous as he remembers Roderich's advice.  _ Focus on Francis and react to him. _ If he did that, he'd be fine.)

France: (Goes into the throne room, giving his courtiers a half bow.)  Bonjour, tout le monde. (He pulls Arthur ahead of him by the leash until the angel is in front of everyone.)  For over a month now, you have begged to see my angel. (He pulls Arthur flush against him, nipping his earlobe with a smirk.)  You need wonder no more, for here is  _ my _ little pet.  (His smirk grows wider as he unties the ribbon at Arthur's waist, opening up the kimono to reveal the outfit underneath, stripping it off of the angel and throwing it to a nearby servant.)  Beautiful, isn't he? You may all come up one at a time to see him closer, but  _ none _ of you shall touch him without my permission. Court, you are pardoned to go back to your regular activities.  (He tugs on Arthur's leash, gesturing the angel to the floor as he sits on his throne.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/33240416538/in/dateposted-public/)

England: (Follows obediently, silent and keeping his attention on Francis, but as they enter the throne room, a shiver runs through him at all the eyes suddenly trained on  _ him _ and him  **_alone._ ** He takes a calming breath, listening to Francis and keeping his attention on him, eyes and wings down as he plays along with the king. His eyes follow Francis' hands as the demon unties the ribbon, minutely stiffening as the kimono is stripped off, leaving him only covered in lingerie for them  _ all _ to see. He makes no expression of distaste, though his wings minutely curl forward on instinct, having to force himself to keep them back. He only sinks to Francis' feet and leans against the king, keeping an eye on Francis for cues to pick up on.)

France: (Pets through Arthur's hair, nodding for the nobles to begin coming up, many asking for help with agriculture.)

England: (Listens to the nobles, but  _ watches _ Francis, leaning into his hand and favoring only  _ him _ as nobles come up. When Francis' attitude shifts, so does his, showing attention  _ only _ to his . .  _ master. _ )

France: (Frowns, his body minutely tensing.)  Count Rogan, I must refuse your request for my guards on your property. The demons trained to guard my castle are not to be used for such a paltry reason as to watch over your small grab of land.

Count Rogan: Your majesty, I am one of your most skilled diplomats. I did help you gain the flying marshes of the West, did I not? As well as glittering plains, non? Surely just this one small favor-

France: (Narrows his eyes as he listens to the count babble.)

England: (Minutely frowns at the tense atmosphere, gently hugging one of Francis' legs to himself as he rests, softly gazing up at the king- the king that seems to be growing more and more tense and angry.)

France: (His tail flicks, producing a sharp  _ 'snap!' _ )  I grow  _ bored _ of listening to you, Count Rogan. While, oui, you did help me get those bits of land-  _ you have already been compensated for your efforts, non? _

Count Rogan: (Swallows nervously.)  O-oui, I was.

France: (Smiles beatifically.)  Ah, bon. The way you were talking, mon ami, I thought you hadn't been. If that had been that case, I would have been worried. I would hate it if my successful diplomats were not getting their due.  (Flicks his hair over his shoulder with his hand.) Now, as I said before, you may not have my palace guards. I recommend contacting Handker's guild, mon ami. And to not bother  _ me. _

Count Rogan: (Bows, departing.)  Oui, my king. (Quickly leaves.)

England: (Softly sighs as the count leaves, gently rubbing his cheek against Francis' knee to help him relax.)

France: (Lets out a slow, silent breath, his hand gentle as he pets through Arthur's hair. After another three demons have talked with him, he nonchalantly slides Arthur into his lap to snuggle his angel.)

England: (Nuzzles into him, softly purring and holding the demon loosely. He lightly kisses Francis' cheek, settling with him as more demon approach, one by one.)

Count Elias: (A rather older demon, he comes forward and gives a smooth bow to his king.)  Good day, your majesty. It is good to see you well, as always, and even better to see your dear angel brought before us after the past weeks.  (Kindly.) I wish to invite you and your pet to this year's masquerade ball that my family will be hosting on our estate, just north of here. It is always an honor and a pleasure to have your company at the event, so I do hope you will consider.

France: (Smiles at the demon.)  Of course, Elias. I would be honored. I'll let you know within the week if my pet and I will make it.

Count Elias: (Smiles in return, nodding gratefully.)  Thank you, my king. (He looks to the angel with an equally kind expression, minutely nodding to him as well.)  It has been many years since I have seen an angel in person. I wish you great health in the care of our king. (Returns his gaze to the king alone.)  May many more years of prosperity be upon you, my king.

France: (Nods his head to him, letting the old man go. Humming, he nuzzles the side of Arthur's head.)

England: (Gently purrs, leaning into the affection and nuzzling back.)

France: (Gesturing for the other demons to leave them alone, Francis gently nibbles on Arthur's neck as he holds the angel's small wrists in each of his hands.)

England: (Softly gasps, baring his neck more for Francis as he shifts farther back into the demon, his wings sinking down submissively. When Francis goes over that one  _ spot, _ he shivers in pleasure and lets his back minutely arch, letting himself be put on display.)

France: (Softly growls, his wings going up and over the angel, catching the light shining from his wings as he attacks that one spot diligently.)

England: (Whimpers a bit as he's teased, rubbing his wings up against Francis. He strains against the hands on his wrists a bit, wanting to grab onto the demon or  _ something, _ instead of being held captive and made helpless to Francis' onslaught.)

France: (Smirking, he brings Arthur's hands back a little, letting the angel grasp at his long hair.)

England: (Twists his fingers into Francis' soft hair, gently gripping the strands as he looks back at the demon, pulling him a bit closer- or trying to, at least.)

France: (Carefully leans in, kissing Arthur gently, savoring his soft lips.)

England: (Tentatively kisses back, his grip somewhat loosened as he holds Francis close and melts, pleasantly surprised by the demon.)

France: (Gently turns them so Arthur is pinned over the arm of the throne while Francis kisses him.)

England: (Softly whines as they shift, but he settles and continues to return Francis' kisses unthinkingly.)

France: (Somewhat amazed at how willing and  _ responsive  _ Arthur is to him, Francis kisses the hell out of the angel, a claw drawing over the angel's nipple, playing with the pert bud.)

England: (Moans into Francis' kisses, his wings curling around them to make  _ sure  _ no one else saw what they did. He lightly pulls on Francis' hair and looks at him as he minutely pulls away, breathless.)

France: (He purrs quietly to Arthur.)  Very good, mon lapin. Would you be willing to dance? You do not have to say yes if you don't want to.

England: (Softly nods, murmuring.)  Just . . give me a few moments? I would then.

France: (Purrs, nibbling Arthur's jaw.)

England: (Sighs, slowly catching his breath and- after a little while -begins purring. He gently moves a hand to Francis' cheek and leans in to kiss him sweetly, murmuring against his lips as he looks up into the demon's bright eyes.)  Shall I go?

France: (Lowly chuckles, summoning his shadows.)  Dance for me with my shadows, mon lapin. Show us what you can  _ do. _

England: (Pecks the demon's lips once more, slipping farther and farther into his sultry and submissive facade as he smoothly stands, his hips swaying as he walks away from the demon. He watches as the shadows creep along the floor before rising up and curling into a loose figure, the angel listening as music begins to play somewhere in the room. He glances back at Francis once before beginning to dance with the shadows- and, subsequently, Francis. He lets the demon king control nearly every aspect as he reacts and smoothly moves in every way he can, each seductive movement a great percent trained into him and only a fraction of his own control. Only one of the demons staring and raking their eyes over his body mattered, and it was the one in control- the one that watched with the greatest interest and the only one he looked back at.)

France: (His eyes trace every line that Arthur's body makes, each arc and leap a spectacle for the king to behold. Satan, how he would love to hold the angel and watch over him for all eternity, if just to watch him please Francis.)

England: (Meeting Francis' hungry eyes, he flares out his wings in a brief, yet highly flirtatious, show, dancing harder and harder until it's done, his body, wings, and eyes all pointing back to Francis. His chest rapidly rises and falls as he pants, his eyes locked on Francis'.)

France: (Curls his fingers, urging Arthur forward.)  Sit, mon petit.

England: (Seductively sways back to the demon, sinking down at Francis' feet as he rests against the other's legs, softly looking up at him.)

France: (Sincerely.)  Very well danced, mon petit.

England: (Softly purrs.)  Thank you, your majesty. . .

France: (Gives Arthur a kiss, settling the angel back down as the court continues to mingle.)

England: (Returns the kiss before leaning against and looping his arms around Francis' legs, resting calmly.)

France: (Scoops a wing around Arthur protectively.)

England: (Instantly feels less guarded and protective of himself, leaning on Francis emotionally and taking the support offered, purring quietly.)

France: (Near the end, Francis stands, gently pulling Arthur's leash.)  Follow along.

England: (Stands quickly, staying close behind Francis as they walk.)

France: (Keeping a wing round Arthur, he makes small talk with the demons around him.)

England: (Doesn't pay  _ too  _ much attention of the conversations, simply tucking himself close as demons look him over, some coming close, but none touching. Catching a few pairs of leering eyes, he has to suppress a shiver, listening to Francis to distract from them.)

France: (Smacks a demon away who was going to try and feel up Arthur with his wing effortlessly, not even bothering to address the issue.)

England: (Softly nuzzles Francis' shoulder in thanks, his own wings tucking closer to him.)

France: (Gently, leading Arthur out.)  Time to go, mon lapin.

England: (Keeps close, glad when all the eyes are off  _ him  _ and it's just the two of them.)

France: (Once they're back in their hall, does Francis speak to Arthur.)  Where would you like to go, Arthur? Your room, mine, take a bath?

England: (Softly.)  A bath, then . . I join you?

France: (His tail swishes.)  As you wish. (He gives Arthur a gentle push towards the bathroom, quietly going into his study.)

England: (Goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, letting out a shuddering sigh when he's finally alone. He strips and sinks into the warm water, gently scrubbing at himself to rid himself of the stares from before, just very grateful that the only one who  _ touched  _ him was Francis. Anyone else . . . He dunks under the water and slowly calms as he takes care of himself, grooming through his feathers quietly for a long while before getting out and drying off. Putting on a robe and gathering up his feathers, he slips out and goes to his room to dress and lay out his feathers to dry before tentatively going to Francis' study, nearly silent as he enters.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141360427@N05/47115769661/in/dateposted-public/)

France: (Raises an eyebrow at Arthur when he comes out. Quietly amused.)  Looking queenly, aren't you, mon lapin?

England: (Softly.)  Thank you. I hope you're not too busy for company?

France: (Shakes his head.)  Non, feel free to take a seat anywhere.

England: (Gently pads to the lounge and pauses before sitting . . and instead grabbing a chair and taking it to sit beside Francis. He slips out of his shoes and pulls his feet into the chair, curling up into a little ball as he leans lightly against the demon, trying not to bother him too much.)

France: (Wraps his wing around Arthur, continuing to read a report.)

England: (Pulls his own wings around himself as well, burrowing into the soft leather wing around him. He listens to Francis- in a different way than before -and focuses on the demon's even breaths and heart, the king helping to silently calm him.)

France: (Softly.)  Would you like on my lap?

England: . . .  (Even quieter.) A little, yes?

France: (Holds out his arms for Arthur to slide into his lap.)

England: (Slides into Francis' lap, curling right back up into the demon, resting his head on the other's shoulder. Softly.)  Thank you.

France: (Purrs comfortingly, loving up his angel.)  De rien.

England: (Accepts the love gratefully, sighing as he lets the other's affections help him heal, his body minutely trembling as he relaxes more.)

France: (Easily works around Arthur, tenting the angel in to give him a private place.)

England: (Enjoys the privacy, glad he can just . . relax and let things go in his distress without worrying about Francis being distracted from his work or anything else, just burrowed in as he breathes. He takes a long time for him to calm down and straighten himself a bit, snuggling in and just resting after that.)

France: (Smiles when the angel begins lightly dozing in his arms.)

England: (Lightly grips Francis' shirt as he dozes, actually slipping off to sleep in the demon's arms.)

France: (BEAMS.)

England: (Everything goes silent and dark for him as he sleeps, but . . . slowly . . things begin to intrude into his light dreams, making the angel twitch and tremble in his sleep.)

France: (Curious as to what the angel is dreaming about, the demon snuffles his head, petting the angel soothingly as he purrs.)

England: (Lightly grips the other's shirt, very quietly whining as he tucks even closer.)

France: (Wraps them both tightly in his wings.)

England: (Mumbles incoherently, softly trailing off as Francis wraps them up protectively.)

France: (Smiles, continuing his work happily since he has an angel in his lap.)

England: (Just keeps sleeping somewhat soundlessly, only twitching once in a very long while.)

France: (When supper rolls around, he gently pokes the angel.)  Mon lapin, it is time to eat.

England: (Stirs, blinking up at Francis as he registers the demon's words and shifts up. Softly, just very sleepy.)  Okay. . .

France: (Gets up, carrying Arthur to his chair and setting him down in it, Francis sitting across from him.)

England: (Holds onto Francis tightly, a little surprised to have been carried, but he's not arguing. He gently smiles at the other.)  Thank you.

France: De rien~.

England: (Smiles fondly, waiting for the demon to begin eating before eating as well, just relaxed and quiet. He thinks about his dream, but tries to put it from his mind and not worry too much about it.)

France: (Gently.)  . . Did you have a nightmare?

England: . . . Yes. I did.

France: Do you want to talk about it? Or would you rather write it down later?

England: (Thinks a moment before looking up at Francis and gently replying.)  I . . I would rather write it down. I'm sorry, Francis, I'm just . . not ready yet.

France: (Smiles.)  As long as there is something that helps you heal, I am fine with it, mon petit.

England: (Softly smiles back.)  Just your support. That's all I need, for now.

France: (Beams, gingerly leaning over to peck Arthur on the cheek.)

England: (Leans into the kiss a tiny bit, just smiling.)  . . You continue to confuse me, Francis, but I can't say it's completely terrible.

France: (Silently chuckles.)

England: (Softly smiles at the demon, just silently wondering how true Francis really was and how much of himself he was hiding from the angel. He hums somewhat happily, just continuing to eat as he thinks, always questioning.)

France: (Orders up some milk for Arthur, the glass quickly coming.)  Drink, mon lapin.

England: (Quirks an eyebrow at Francis curiously.)  . . Is it  _ just  _ milk?

France: (Is confused.)  Oui? What else would it be?

England: (Awkwardly chuckles.)  It just seemed a little strange . . . Any particular reason you sent for it?  (Takes the glass, tentatively smelling it before drinking.)

France: You are short, thin, and your bones need it.  _ Drink. _

England: (Flushes, frowning as he drinks the glass, a bit offended. When he's done, he quirks an eyebrow at Francis.)  Be that as it may, it's not going to make me any taller, dear.

France: Milk is good for you. Executive decision! You now must have at the very least, a small glass of milk with each meal. 

England: (Snorts, amused.)  Fine, fine. I'll abide by your new rule.

France: (Grins, victorious.)

England: (Shakes his head, continuing his meal and actually  _ completing  _ it for a change.)

France: (His tail wags happily in response.)

England: (Softly smiles at the wagging tail, waiting until they're both finished with their meal to lean over and peck Francis' cheek, looking at him kindly.)  Thank you. For protecting me today. It was very stressful, but you were very supportive and I appreciate that more than you know.

France: (Purrs proudly.)  Thank you, Arthur.

England: (Gently.)  . . . Do we need to do that again soon?

France: (Dismissively.)  You need to show up about once a month.

England: (Sighs.)  Good, good. I'm glad it's only once a month.

France: Yes . .  (Looks at the time.)  Would you like to go to your room now?

England: (Also looks at the time, humming.)  I suppose it is getting late. . . I should return to my room and . . do a bit of writing.  (Softly smiles at the demon.)

France: (Stands, holding out a hand to help Arthur up.)

England: (Takes the hand and smoothly rises as well, murmuring gently.)  Thank you, Francis.

France: (Bows to the angel, still holding his hand as he kisses the back of it.)  Anytime, mon petit.

England: (Blushes, averting his eyes a moment before looking back and gently touching Francis' cheek with his fingertips. After a brief moment, he goes in close to hug the demon firmly.)   _ *Please be who I think you are . . . Please always be kind to me . . . _

France: (Hugs Arthur back, a little surprised by the firmness of it.)

England: (When he gently pulls away, he looks up at Francis with a sweet and kind look in his eyes.)  I . . suppose I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?

France: (Walks Arthur to his room.)  Oui. Tomorrow, mon petit.

England: (Very softly.)  Good . . . (At his door, he smiles sweetly back at Francis, about to go inside.)  Goodnight, Francis.

France: (Pecks Arthur on the cheek.)  Bonsoir, Arthur~.

England: (Leans up and pecks Francis' cheek in return, murmuring.)  _  Dormez bien.  _  (Slips into his room, sending Francis one last shy smile before shutting the door. He softly sighs, smiling as he slowly pads to his desk and sits down to write about the day, his thoughts on Francis.)

France: (Goes to bed with little preamble.)

England: (Stays up late writing, not really  _ wanting  _ to go back to sleep and face what stupidities his mind twists from his fears. When he eventually does, it's very late and he just ends up snoozing in a seated position on his bed, sleeping very little through the night.)


	21. Chapter 21: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode is brought to you by Zelda hiding in the photo studio, resting her aching hip. (Self-deprecating smile.) It's fine. Hope you enjoy!!
> 
> Disclaimer: No images used in this fanfic are ours unless otherwise stated. Their only purpose is for visual reference, the same with music and any possible videos. We own nothing.
> 
> March 13, 2019
> 
> 1/1

**** *Several days later, Arthur returns to see Dr. Robert with his notebook in hand, prepared to speak with her.

England: (Nervously sits down with Anya- Francis sitting outside, doing his work like before -and smooths over the cover of his notebook as he tries to similarly smooth his nerves.)

Anya: (Smiles at him, noticing the actions and posturing neutrally to help ease his nerves. She sits with him, speaking kindly.)  How have you been, Arthur? 

England: (Smiles back gently, still nervous.)  I’ve been . . alright. I’m just a bit nervous about going over . . . . everything. 

Anya: (Looks pleased.)  You did your homework, then? 

England: (Offers his notebook.)  I did as you asked and wrote down the beginning of everything, as well as things that bothered me. I hope that’s alright?

Anya: (Brightly, taking the notebook.)   _ Oui. _ Oui, this is wonderful, Arthur.  (Happily, looking to Arthur.) There are so many people I’ve spoken to who  _ say _ they’re ready and willing to  _ work _ to get better, who don’t do their homework. They don’t even try. The fact that you’re very willing to get down to it- means a lot to me. 

England: (Surprised.)  Really? Why wouldn’t- (Shakes his head.)  Never mind. I’m sure that there are many different situations that your other clients have been through.

Anya: (Nods.)  It’s very difficult, but I’m very pleased to see you take that initiative.  (Gently lifts the notebook.) May we talk about this notebook for a moment? 

England: (Nods.)  Of course. 

Anya: (Kindly.)  Could you tell me a bit about how you came to have this notebook? 

England: Well . . After our last session, Francis gave it to me so I could record everything. He keeps being very helpful through all this. 

Anya: (Gently smiles.)  He tends to be that way, doesn’t he?  (At the silent nod, she gently continues.)  What are three things you like about this notebook?

England: (Blinks at the question, not entirely understanding, but he silently reaches back out for the notebook anyway. As she passes it back, he holds the leather-bound journal in his hands, silently searching for an answer.)  . . . I like that it’s thick and heavy. It’s very solid and will hold up for a long time, probably even if I mistreated it- not that I would, but it  _ could _ still hold up. I like the pages. They’re not super thin like most journals and they’re also a softer white, instead of something extremely bright and obnoxious. I . . I guess I also enjoy the smell of it, as weird as that may seem. 

Anya: (Shakes her head.)  That’s not weird at all, I promise. Why do you enjoy the smell? 

England: . . It reminds me of the books I used to have in my room. Books and notebooks all over the place, all smelling musty, but still pleasant. 

Anya: (Softly smiles, nodding.)  That sounds wonderful, Arthur. Was your room your particular safe space? 

England: (Nods.)  My family wouldn’t disturb me because I worked in my room a lot. I could read and write and work long into the night without any distraction or disruption.

Anya: (Listens, nodding understandingly.)  Do you have any place  _ here  _ that reminds you of that space? 

England: . . . Francis’ study. He has a wall of bookshelves and there are always papers and maps around, and a comfortable space to curl up in.  (Softly smiles.) It’s actually very nice to sit in there and read while he’s working. 

Anya: Tell me more about that? 

England: (Has a calm, relaxed look in his eyes.)  He keeps the lights pretty bright around his desk because he’s working and all, but he dims the rest just a little around the sofa and the corner lounge so I can sit and read or just take a nap. I think it’s the place I feel the safest with Francis. He’s never inappropriate towards me and he’s always trying to make me more comfortable. It’s nice. It also feels like a . . not physically, but more . . emotionally warm space. Calm. Homey.

Anya: (Kindly.)  Why do you think it feels that way to you? 

England: (Chuckles.)  Because there are a lot of books? It smells like home?  (Pauses, actually trying to come up with a non-sarcastic answer.)  Maybe because of the books. Mostly . . . . . Mostly because of Francis. I’ll admit that he makes me feel safer. I’m still scared of him, but . . my fear isn’t stronger than that sense of security. Does that make sense? 

Anya: (Nods.)  That makes perfect sense. He’s your social support right now as you continue to settle in here. 

England: (Softly, nodding.)  The control of it all. . . 

Anya: Indeed.  (Gently.) Who would you let see your journal, from all your experiences with family, friends, loved ones, others? 

England: Well, the obvious answer is yourself, but . . also my mother. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, but she would be very understanding and helpful if I showed her. 

Anya: Did the two of you have a very good relationship when you were in contact? 

England: (Nods.)  She was my favorite person in the universe. She took care of us and loved us more than any mother I’ve ever known. 

Anya: Would you be willing to tell me anything more about your family? 

England: . .  (Hesitantly.) I have four brothers. Three older, one younger. Of them, I think I might potentially have shown this notebook to my older twin brothers. They took care of us all after mum and dad were both gone. Those brothers are all I have left of my family.  (Lets out a slow breath, the feeling a little heavy.) 

Anya: (Kindly.)  What happened to your parents? 

England: . . . Dad was killed by demons when my youngest brother had just been born. Mum went missing not long after he grew into adolescence. 

Anya: (Takes a slow, deep breath before continuing.)  Do you know what happened to your mother, in the end? 

England: . . . No. I haven’t stopped looking for her. . . She’s down here somewhere. I just don’t know where. 

Anya:  _ *No closure. _  --  Have you asked his majesty for assistance in finding out her whereabouts? 

England: (Shakes his head.)  I don’t want to . . to bother him with something like this. He has enough on his plate to worry about.

Anya: (Gently.)  Arthur, this is your mother. Are you sure Francis wouldn’t help you? 

England: No, I’m  _ sure _ he’d help. I just- . . I don’t want to bother him. He’d make it his top priority and . . . I don’t want to interfere with this duties of the king.

Anya: Perhaps you should inquire, but make it clear you don’t want to interfere?

England: . . . Perhaps. I will talk to him about it. 

Anya: (Hums, nodding.)  As you wish. Would you like to talk further about your mother? I know losing her and not knowing where she is can be very difficult to handle.

England: (Shakes his head.)  Not today, no. I’d rather focus on that another time, if that’s alright?

Anya: (Nods.)  That’s perfectly alright. What  _ would _ you like to focus on? 

England: (Takes a deep breath before handing her the notebook.)  Going over this. Please. 

Anya: (Nods to the journal in Arthur’s hand as she reaches for it.)  Do you mind if I read what you’ve written, or would you rather read it? 

England: (Shakes his head.)  No, no- you can read it. There’s nothing in there I don’t want you to read, so . . . go ahead.  (Sinks back into his chair as she takes the notebook, anxious all of a sudden.)

Anya: (Smiles.)  Thank you, Arthur.  (Opens the notebook, starting to read through the first entry. As she reads, she writes down a few key points, going through each entry slowly and contemplatively before shutting the notebook and looking up at Arthur.) 

England: (Has been staring at his clasped hands in his lap, trying to conceal the trembling in his hands. When he hears the notebook gently shut, he tentatively looks up, very nervous.) 

Anya: (Smiles.)  How are you feeling about me reading that, Arthur? 

England: . . .  (Softly.) Horribly frightened. I don’t know . . I don’t remember if there is anything in those entries that I wanted to hide or keep to myself and, while I know I shouldn’t hide anything, I’m very hesitant to let everything go at once.

Anya: (Kindly.)  We don’t have to confront some of these things right away, Arthur. Some of them I don’t think you’re  _ ready _ to confront yet. We’ll work through these things. 

England: (Tentatively smiles.)  Thank you. That’s certainly helpful to keep in mind. 

Anya: Good.  (Glances at her list before looking back to Arthur.)  Would you be alright talking through your timeline of the very beginning of your stay here?

England: (Nods.)  Yes, that would be fine. 

Anya: Wonderful. You wrote about that first encounter with Roderich, and the fight leading up to your capture. You said he did not want to return to Heaven with you? 

England: (Nods.)  He was, and still very much is, completely in love with two Southern demons. The king and their lover. He wanted to return and we thought he had gone mad. 

Anya: We? So all four of you shared this opinion. 

England: Yes, we did. An angel- an  _ archangel _ in love with a demon king and his lover? It was ridiculous. Highly unnatural. 

Anya: (Nods, understanding.)  How is your relationship now? Are you both still at odds?

England: (Lightly chuckles.)  No no . . . We eventually got past our issues. Things became too stressful to not protect one another and . . well, we eventually became good friends.

Anya: (Hums, her eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise.)  That’s good! You all took care of each other, then, like a family of sorts? 

England: (Nods.)  Roderich and I, especially, have been able to keep in touch, but . . . not yet with the others. I don’t believe they’ve all been bought and settled yet. 

Anya: Would you like to keep in touch with the others as well? 

England: (Firmly.)  Yes, of course. They are my family here, my comrades. I wish to know if they are well.

Anya: (Nods, her tone neutral.)  That’s completely understandable. You all needed each other.

England: . . To protect ourselves. Yes. Yes, we did. 

Anya: (Gently, carefully navigates the conversation.)  Did you know them before Hell? 

England: (Hesitates a bit before nodding.)  I knew Lukas and Alfred well, but Tino and Roderich by relation only. 

Anya: What relation? 

England: Lukas. Both are cousins of his. 

Anya: (Can tell the other is secretive about Heaven and the specifics of what came before his time in Hell, knowing better than to push  _ that _ particular point.)  I see. During the fight, despite not being all familiar with one another, you still joined up and fought together?  

England: Of course. It was our best chance at survival, using our strengths together. 

Anya: (Kindly.)  Can you tell me what happened next? 

England: (Eyebrows furrow.)  You read it, didn’t you- 

Anya: Yes, forgive me, I did. I still would like to talk it through, if that’s alright.

England: . . .  (Nods.) During this battle, something happened to knock us all out. When we came to, we were in separate cages, all wearing collars and shackles, our wings bound and- . . and our Grace  _ gone. _ Then . . we met  _ him. _

Anya: Ryszard, your slaver. 

England: (Bitterly.)  I prefer calling him ‘that bastard’ or ‘that son of a bitch’, if that’s alright.

Anya: (Nods.)  That is perfectly acceptable. Tell me more about what you remember? 

England: (Frowns, looking back. He remembers an argument, saying the wrong thing, and writhing in pain.)  . . I believe I sassed him, or something. It was the first time we all realized how truly messed up that bastard was. 

Anya: What did he do?

England: (Eyebrows furrow, shaking his head.)  I’m not entirely sure. I think he used the servus shackles against me, but I just remember the feeling of fire in my blood. Ultimate pain that didn’t even come  _ close _ to the horrors he introduced us to. He-  (Stops, taking a deep breath.) . . . He stripped us. Touched us to make sure we were perfect. He did things to us and tortured us if we disobeyed him. He dressed us in things that could hardly be described as clothes and forced us back into our cages, all humiliated, but not yet broken down. We all still had quite a bit of spirit in us all, if I recall . . .

Anya: (Stays silent, listening to his confession, the details he added to his story. When Arthur trails off, she softly asks.)  You wrote that you thought you wouldn’t survive. 

England: . . . Yes. I didn’t think I’d last long. I thought I would perish long before everyone else. Even in the beginning, that fucker treated me differently. And it wasn’t a  _ good _ differently.  (Gently, thinking about it more and more.)  Roderich was treated the best- because he was worth the most as an archangel. And then . . . there was me. The toy. The one he fucked with until it couldn’t handle it anymore and would  _ break. _ The thing is . . . I cracked, bit by bit . . . but I never  _ broke. _

Anya: (Hums, nodding as she speaks kindly and genuinely.)  You are very strong, Arthur. 

England: (Softly.)  I’m not, but thank you for the compliment. 

Anya: (Gently.)  Why do you say you’re not? 

England: Because I cracked so badly that I can’t even put myself back together again without help, lest I shatter.

Anya: Was Roderich impacted by your time with . .  _ him? _

England: (Nods.)  Yes. I suspect he’d been through something similar before, however. He was terrified when we were first confronted by that bastard. 

Anya: (Kindly.)  Do you think he’s working to put himself back together again? 

England: . . . He’s not alone. He’s not putting himself back together by- by . . himself.

Anya: (Nods.)  Neither are you. You have our sessions together, your contact with Roderich, and his majesty, correct? 

England: (Softly frowns, seeing her point. He  _ does _ have support too, even if it doesn’t feel like it.)  . . . Correct. 

Anya: Even an archangel needs help. It’s alright to need help, especially when so many are willing to help. 

England: . . . .  (Nods.) 

Anya: (Is silent for a minute before gently asking.)  You wrote something that you crossed out. “That bastard tested our patience until”. You never completed the statement.

England: (Shakes his head.)  Not now. Not yet. (Quieter.)  Not yet. 

Anya: (Nods, understanding.)  Arthur, what are you most bothered by? What causes you the most pain?  (Adds quickly.) If there is something you do not want to outright say, but you know is on this list, you may just say there is something more, but you’re not ready. Alright?

England: (Absently nods, thinking for a moment before speaking gently.)  The fact that my memories from what happened are so  _ vivid. _ Always so real and  _ there _ and . . hurtful. They never go away completely, always popping up at random or inconvenient times. And they  _ shake me. _ The feelings that flood my heart and mind when I’m reminded of the torture a-and- . . and something else. They bother me so much to think about and talk about, and even  _ write _ about. 

Anya: (Nods.)  . . And how do you feel about yourself? 

England: (Blinks, silent for a short while.)  . . . I feel unclean. Like I’ll  _ never _ be clean.  (His wings minutely curl around himself.)  . . I feel like I’m nothing worth having around. 

Anya: (Has to force herself from giving away any tells, nodding slowly.)  Do you think you feel like you bring anything positive with you wherever you go? 

England: (Shakes his head calmly.)  No. Just personal suffering that I try to hide and fail to do so completely. 

Anya: Do you always bottle up your pain? 

England: (Shrugs.)  I don’t know. 

Anya: (Hums, noticing their session deteriorating.)  Arthur, I have some homework for you, alright? (Offers the notebook back.) 

England: (Takes it, just letting it sit in his lap.)  Which is? 

Anya: (Calmly.)  I want you to list every single positive attribute you think you have. Physical, personality related- anything. Additionally, I want you to talk to Francis about this as well. 

England: (Head whips up, eyes wide.)  You what? 

Anya: (Repeats.)  I want you to talk to Francis about what he thinks your positive attributes are. If you like, I could inform him of this to make it easier for yourself? 

England: (Shakes his head.)  No, no- Please understand, I would really rather not talk to him about this. 

Anya: (Gently.)  Why? 

England: (Frowns, biting back an angry response.) 

Anya: (Looks at him expectantly.)  

England: . . .  (Bitterly.) Because I don’t want him to know how I feel about myself. 

Anya: For whose sake are you worried, his or your own?

England:  _ Both, _ alright? I don’t want to him to know. I don’t want to bother him. He does enough for me, I don’t want him to be burdened with that information. 

Anya: (Softly.)  I understand your concerns, Arthur, but I truly believe talking with him about this will help you and also help him to understand more clearly what you’re going through.  (Adds gently.) With compassion, not pity. His majesty does not often pity others. 

England: . . . Fine. But I’ll be the one to bring it up to him. 

Anya: Shall we make an agreement, in the event that our next session comes and you have yet to do so? 

England: (Frowns.)  Next session, if I haven’t,  _ you’ll _ tell him? 

Anya: (Nods, still kind and patient.)  Oui. If that is alright with you. 

England: . . . . You have a deal. Next time. 

Anya: (Nods.)  Wonderful. Now, would you be willing to talk with me about your nightmares and possibly resolve what is bothering you in your sleep?

England: . . . Yes. I think that would be beneficial.

Anya: You wrote that you had a nightmare after you went to court with his majesty, correct?  (At Arthur’s nod, she continues.) Would you like to tell me about it? 

England:  _ *No, not really. _  --  Yes, I suppose so. . . I was in the throne room, in the very center, and there were demons on all sides of me, talking about me and how I looked. They kept getting closer and closer, trying to grab me, until they finally stopped  _ trying _ and just  _ did.  _ I tried to rip away from them, but they kept throwing me between them, their hands scorchingly cold as I was passed between them . . .  (Gently.) Then something . . warm just enveloped me and kept me safe, hiding me away from them so they wouldn’t hurt me. I couldn’t hear the demons anymore. It was calm and peaceful and . . I don’t remember what happened after that. 

Anya: (Nods.)  That’s alright. All of the nightmares you recorded, four in total, were similar to this one, correct?  (At the nod, she continues.) Where do you think this originates from?

England: Mostly likely just from my fear of sitting with Francis before the court. Being watched by a hundred demons is . . intimidating and frightening. 

Anya: You think it’s  _ only _ from your exposure and fear of the court? 

England: Well . . I suppose the enhancement of the fear comes from being trained and going through . . everything. Being exposed to those triggers again just gave it a form.  (Looks at Anya, wondering how far off he is.) What do  _ you _ think about that? 

Anya: (Hums.)  I agree that some of it stems from all you’ve been through. Those experiences have become deeply rooted in you and, with the more current stressors, it’s transformed into an image of a faceless court of demons. 

England: . . . But? 

Anya: No but. I agree with you. I’m simply thinking about ways we could help you work through these recurring nightmares.

England: (Hums, just . . thinking.)  . . . Perhaps . . . forgive me if this is a stupid suggestion, but perhaps I should just . . give it time? 

Anya: That’s not a stupid suggestion at all, I promise. Do  _ you _ feel like you should give it time? 

England: . . . Yes. Maybe focus on working through some more smaller things that all build up and affect my sleep. Reverse dominoes to take care of the earlier problems. 

Anya: (Smiles kindly, nodding.)  Very well. We’ll leave talking about this further until later, and check in about next week, alright? 

England: (Softly smiles back, nodding in agreement.)  That sounds like a good idea. 

Anya: (Smiles a little more before asking kindly.)  Is there anything you would like to discuss before we conclude this session? 

England: (Hums.)  . . No. Nothing comes to mind. Thank you. 

Anya: You’re welcome, Arthur.  (Stands, Arthur following.) It was good to talk with you once again. I’ll see you next week.  (Opens the door, Arthur leaving with his notebook.) 

England: (Nods to her, smiling.)  See you next week, Anya. (Turns, smiling softly at Francis, the demon already getting his paperwork all bundled back together and put in his pocket. He stops a step or two from Francis, just softly smiling as he waits for the demon.) 

France: (Beams, hopping up and offering Arthur a hand.)  Are you ready, mon lapin? 

England: (Nods, slipping his hand into Francis’.)  Yes, I’m ready. 

France: Bon~.  (Leads Arthur away, taking him to the menagerie.)  How was your session? 

England: Ah . . . Stressful. We talked a lot about . . about Ryszard.  (Has a soft look on his face.) But we mostly talked about how I came to Hell. How we were captured. Things like that. 

France: (Gently squeezes the angel’s hand, understanding.)  Do you need to talk about it or no? 

England: . . . In time. Not . . .

France: (Finishes.)  Not now. I understand, mon lapin. 

England: (Looks up at him sweetly, smiling gently.)  Thank you. 

France: You're welcome.  (Tosses  ~~ yeets ~~ Arthur into the river.)

England: (Grabs Francis' arm and yanks him in as well with a yelp, used to pranks like this by now. He laughs, splashing the demon.)   _ Francis. _

France: (Laughs.)  I am a fox, non? One must expect foxes to be  _ tricky _ .

England: (Shakes his head, smiling.)  You  _ are _ tricky. Is this how you became king?  (Chuckles.)

France: Oui~.

England: (Laughs, getting up and laying on the warm river bank.)  Thank you for bringing me here.

France: (Hands Arthur a live catfish.)  For you~.

England: (Eyes widen, not sure what to do with the fish except  _ put it back, _ amusedly shaking his head.)  While I may love fish, I don't love it  _ that _ much!

France: (Pets the fish.)  But he says you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen! . . . And he would like to eat your eyebrows. They look like juicy,  _ fat _ caterpillars. According to him.

England: (Whacks Francis' arms.)  According to  _ him, _ hmm?

France: (Snickers.)

England: (Huffs, shaking his head and laying back, a hand stroking through his hair. Absently, he brushes an eyebrow, minutely frowning. He looks up at Francis, gently asking.)  Are my eyebrows that bad, Francis?

France: I think they're very cute. Nice and fluffy.

England: (Huffs.)  You'd think so,  _ frog. _

France: (Gapes.)  I think that's the first time you've ever teased me back.  _ Tea-addict _ .

England: (Eyes widen, smirking.)  You deserve the teasing.  _ Cheese addict. _

France: Shush ass-bouquet!  (Snickers.)

England: (Gapes.)  How dare you, you  _ snail-slurper. _

France: I  _ dare _ , monsieur  _ marmite _ .  (Grins.)

England: (Offended.)  Marmite is _wonderful,_ **sir.**

France: Only if your taste-buds are  _ dead _ or  _ nonexistent _ .

England: (Quips.)  You sure would know, wouldn't you? What with eating nothing but raw or  _ extremely _ rare meat.

France: Excuse you, there is nothing but pure, unaltered sexy  _ beast _ under this  _ devilishly _ handsome exterior! I  _ need _ meat!

England: (Pinches at Francis' side and the light chub there, smirking.)  Mmhmm. Of  _ course _ you need meat,  _ monsieur I'm-so-sexy-it-hurts. _

France: (Is so, so offended.)  British-scum-jerkwad! Le boo! (Pouts, taking his wet shirt and pants off to show his rose-print underwear.)

England: (Lightly blushes, giving a chuckle before cooing.)  Oh, was that too far, dear?

France: (Pouts some more.)  Oui, it was. Comfort me. (Forces Arthur to snuggle him.)

England: (Snips, flicking his chest.)  You're practically  _ naked. _

France: (Quips.)  I can be  _ completely _ naked, if you want.

England: (Stares him in the eyes.)  Don't you dare.

France: (Yanks off his underwear, then smirking at Arthur.)  Oh Arthur~. I think we should both do a 'return to nature' and go  _ eau natural _ .  (Wiggles his fingers at Arthur, plucking at the angel's clothing.)

England: (Averts his eyes, smacking the demon's hands and getting up, not daring to look at him.)   _ Francis. . . _

France: (Grins, beginning to chase Arthur.)  Return to nature~!!!!!

England: (Covers his eyes, snapping.)   _ Francis. _  (He's actually pretty uncomfortable with this.)

France: (Covers himself with his wings.)  Sorry, sorry. I forgot you are not . . . (Shrugs.)

England: (Softly.)  . . Are you covered?

France: With my wings~.

England: (Peeks at the demon, removing his hands when he sees the other is  _ somewhat _ decent and padding over, pecking his cheek with a soft, forlorn smile.)  I'm sorry I'm not . . as fun as I'd like to be, Francis. I didn't mean anything by it, I hope you know.

France: Oui, I know.   (Backs up, carefully pulling on his sopping wet clothes.)  I should really get back to work, anyways.

England: (Gently, feeling a bit bad.)  I understand. . .

France: Feel free to spend however much time here you want to.  (Leaves, his shoes squelching with each step and hanging his head  _ and _ tail, disappointed in himself.)

England: (His wings curl around him a bit in shame, going deep into the trees and going up to a perch high in the branches where he's started to find refuge when he's upset. He curls up, also disappointed in himself. Everything was going so  _ well. _ They were  _ teasing _ each other and he actually felt like himself again . . . and then the memories and emotions came cascading back, reminding him how broken he truly was. How utterly  _ useless _ he was.)

France: (Goes to bed early.)

England: (Stays up a bit late, uncomfortable and unable to sleep properly. He tosses and turns for much of the night before just getting up and working on his nest in the early morning, exhausted.)

France: (Knocks on Arthur's door in the afternoon.)

England: (Feeling a bit better by then, he easily goes to the door and softly smiles at the demon.)  Hello Francis.

France: I'm sorry for being an idiot, especially yesterday.

England: (Gently grabs Francis' hand and pulls him inside, his words and tone kind.)  Francis, I forgive you. It . . it stirred some negative things in me, yes, but I enjoyed feeling more carefree with you. Unworried, for a change, if only for a little while. I'm sorry it went awry like it did.

France: You have nothing to apologize for, it's me that was a shithead to you and pushed you too far.

England: (Softly.)  Stop. Mistakes happen, Francis. I don't blame you.

France: (Fidgets.)

England: (Gently.)  Look at me, Francis.

France: (Peeks up at the angel.)

England: (Softly.)  I forgive you. You didn't hurt me, Francis. I trust you.

France: (Tentatively smiles.)

England: (Gently caresses the demon's face with a hand, smiling back.)

France: May I kiss your forehead?

England: (Softly.)  Of course, you can.

France: (Pecks Arthur on the forehead.)  Thank you.

England: (Hugs the demon after he's kissed, leaning into Francis' arms.)  You're welcome, dear.

France: I'll . . leave you alone, then?

England: (Looks up at him, murmuring.)  Are you busy?

France: A little?

England: (Dejectedly, he softly smiles and lets the demon go.)  I suppose you should work, then. May- May I request something, though?

France: Oui?

England: (Sweetly.)  Could I get string lights? I've been thinking about it for a while, since my nest is in the closet and it's dark and I'm not exactly fond of the dark, and I think they'd be cute.  (Shyly.) Would that be alright?

France: Oui, I'll have them be sent up shortly.  (Leaves.)

England: (Peeks out the door, smiling happily.)  Thank you!

France: (Waves, sighing as he sits at his desk before letting his head bang on it. Tiredly ordering lights, Francis buries his face in his hands, just focusing on breathing. After five minutes he pulls out the automaton from the mirror and winds it up, watching the mare and foal gallop in never ending circles.)

England: (Not quite aware of Francis' emotional state, he hangs up some lights on the lower parts of the closet before struggling to do the upper half. He pads to Francis' study, wondering if he could maybe help? He was working a lot, so maybe this would help him relax a little. Peeking in, he blinks at the sight, near-silently entering and going behind the demon, gently stroking through his hair before murmuring.)  Are you alright, Francis?

France: So many things have crumpled in my hands. I worry I'm crumpling you.

England: (Softly gasps, wrapping his arms around the demon from behind and burying his face in the other's neck, whispering.)  No, Francis, you're not.  _ You're not. _ Please, don't even think that.

France: (Shivers.)  I feel like I'll break you if I'm even the tiniest bit rough with you, mon petit. You're like fine porcelain or spun sugar; can break at any moment and  _ I don't want that _ .

England: (Even softer.)  I'm trying, Francis . . .  (Takes a deep breath.) I'm not going to break at any moment. I just- I need to work through these things.

France: I know, I'm blaming myself for being stupid- being too rough with you. I  _ know _ that things are tough for you and I still did  _ that _ .

England: (Releases Francis and slips into his lap, holding the demon.)  Shh . . . You were trying to be playful and flirtatious, right?

France: Oui . . . and it backfired spectacularly.

England:  _ Hush. _ You weren't trying to hurt me, right?

France: Non, I wasn't . . .

England: (Pecks the demon's cheek.)  Intentions are everything, darling. You had no evil intentions. We both know that. I enjoy your playful, flirtatious side. I don't want to see it go away because of a silly incident like this. . .

France: I should just send you to live with Antonio and Roderich . . . or anyone else besides  _ me _ .  (Is just being a dramatic little shit.)

England: (Pinches his cheek, eyebrows furrowing as he stares down the demon.)  Stop that.

France: (Licks Arthur's fingers childishly.)   _ MEEHHHHHHH _ .

England: I will grab your tongue, don't test me.

France: (Pouts, looking away.)

England: (Wipes off his hand before stroking through the other's hair. After a few tense moments, he takes the other's hand and lays it on his chest so Francis can feel his heart beating. (In his anxiety, it's harsh and a little faster than average, but it's gradually slowing.))  No matter how my instincts and triggers may scream, I still deeply know you won't hurt me, Francis. (Softly.) I worry some days it may change, but I trust you.

France: (Nods . . before giving Arthur's chest a small squeeze.)  . . Huh. Not as flat as I thought.

England: (Laughs, smacking Francis' hand and teasing him.)  Stop that!  _ Pervert. _

France: I like your little breasts, they're so cute~.

England: Of  _ course, _ you do.

France: I could worship them, if you want?

England: (Snips.)  Don't. You might get carried away . . .  (Smirks.)

France: I thought you wouldn't mind that~.

England: (Murmurs, leaning into the demon with smile.)  Ask me again another time, perhaps . . .

France: (Smirks, then letting it drop.)  Did you come in here for a particular reason?

England: (Gently.)  I was wondering if I could get your help hanging lights around my nest? I can't reach as high as I want to hang them. And you seemed stressed, so I . . thought maybe this would help?

France: (Is surprised by that.)  . . . I can help you with that. (Gets up, following Arthur back to his room and helping the angel hang up the trailing lights.)

England: (Softly smiles, glad to have help- that he trusts to have this close to his nest -and glad to see the demon relaxing a bit.)  Thank you for this . . . I'm really excited to have  _ light _ in my nest, finally.

France: The fairy lights are a very cute touch, mon lapin.

England: (Beams, preening a bit.)  Thank you~. (Once everything's hung up and powered, he shuts them inside the large closet and turns on the lights, his eyes widening in awe.)

France: (Behind Arthur's back, he shifts to his fox form, planning on getting the angel to cuddle him- only to trip head over heels on a strand of lights and yelp as it tangles around him.)

England: (Whips around at the yelp, cooing as he kneels and untangles the little fox.)  Oh, darling . . . Were you trying to surprise me?

France: (Bashfully flicks his tail, looking up at Arthur pitifully.)

England: Cute . . .  (Softly smiles, scooping up the little fox when he's untangled, sinking into his nest and loosely wrapping his wings around them. He looks up, his eyes bright and happy at all the  _ light _ around him, so happy that his wings lightly glow in his joy.)

France: (Licks Arthur's face, a  _ Happy PuppyTM _ .)

England: (Beams, snuggling the little demon, whispering.)  It's  _ perfect. _

France: (Wags his tail, ecstatic that Arthur's happy.)

England: (Curls up, cuddling him happily.)  Thank you, Francis . . . (Kisses the top of the little fox's head, purring.)

France: ( _ Snuggles _ .)

England: (Snuggles back, murmuring.)  Feeling better, dear?

France: (Boofs, cuddling Arthur sweetly.)

England: (Gives him gentle scritches up and down his back, giving him the love and affection he deserves (and probably craves).)

France: ( _ Melts _ .)

England: (Happily blankets them with his wings, letting Francis lay on the inside of one of his wings curled upward, and snuggles, continuing to lightly scritch the little fox. He relaxes, happy and drowsy and feeling like it's time for a nap. (He didn't sleep all night, after all.))

France: (Watches over Arthur as he sleeps, a Good Boy.)

England: (Lightly twitches in his sleep, but nothing more, blissfully in dreamland. When he wakes, he's a little confused as to where he is, but he gives a tiny stretch before snuggling back in, comfortable.)

France: (Pets through his hair, in demon form once more.)

England: (Looks up at him, sleepy and adorable.)  Hello.

France: Did you sleep well?

England: (Nods, smiling sweetly.)  Yes. I . . I haven't slept that well in a while, admittedly.

France: Is there any way I can help?

England: I'm not sure.  (Gently.) I was talking to Anya about my sleeping patterns the other day, actually . . . I have a . . a lot of nightmares, but we decided that we weren't going to delve into them because they're probably just reflections of a trigger with whatever stimulus is added throughout the day.  (Sighs.) I think they'll go away eventually. It'll just take time.

France: (Nods.)  . . If it makes you feel better-  (He grabs up the two stuffies.) -both lamby and bunny were sent by me to protect you while you sleep. Did you know that?

England: (Blushes, smiling sweetly.)  No, I didn't . . . How do they protect me?

France: You see, lamby's wool is super absorbent and can absorb all of the bad dreams. If they get past lamby, then bun-bun here kick's the bad dream's derriere into submission and either eats it or completely chases it away until it's too scared to come back. Now I'm sure they were just slacking a little because they wanted your permission to get rid of the bad dreams before actually going ahead and doing so.

England: (Softly chuckles, kissing both stuffies on the noses, murmuring.)  I give you permission to protect me in my sleep, little ones. You'll watch over me, right?

France: ('Listens'.)  They both agreed to. They promise to do their very best, but sometimes those bad dreams are super sneaky and can slide past them, so a few might get through, just to let you know.

England: (Smiles.)  I trust them. . .

France: (Smiles back, pecking Arthur on the hand.)  Bon.

England: (Nuzzles up under his chin, murmuring.)  You didn't have to stay . . . I know you're probably busy, Francis.

France: Would you like to join me in my study?

England: (Gently nods.)  I can get started on my homework, so I think it'll be a good idea, as long as I won't be in the way or making anything harder?

France: You'll be fine.

England: (Smiles, murmuring.)  Good. (Shifts, getting up and stretching as they make their way back to Francis' study, the angel grabbing his journal on the way to work in. He sits on sofa, getting comfortable as they both settle in.)

France: (Works at his desk, the paperwork making him want to tear his beautiful perfect hair out by the roots.)

England: (Softly hums a sweet and gentle tune, feeling the frustration emanating from the demon.)

France: (Tries not to die.)

England: (Looks over to the demon, practically feeling the other's frustrations. He gets up and pulls a chair up beside Francis, sitting down and leaning against the demon while they both work. Maybe it would help them both to get their work done.)

France: (Murders paper with ink.)

England: (Continues to gently hum, hoping to calm the demon a bit more as he starts in on his homework, thinking about what he likes about himself.)

France: (Is plotting murder.)

England: (Lightly cuddles him with a wing, trying to get him to calm the fuck down.)

France: (SHALL NOT BE PLACATED.)

England: (Murmurs calmly.)  Deep breaths, dear.

France: No I don't want to.

England: (Doesn't even glance up.)  Taking deep breaths calms your mind and helps you think clearly. It also helps you to live a longer, more fulfilling life.

France: (Sticks his tongue out at Arthur.)

England: (Looks at him coolly before doing the same thing at Francis, smirking.)

France: (Licks Arthur's tongue.)

England: (Gasps in (almost) mock-horror, frowning.)  Shameless flirt.

France: (Faux-innocently.)  Did you want something else of mine to touch your tongue?

England: Hmph! Nothing of  _ yours . . . _

France: (Amused.)  Someone else, then?

England: (Hums, pretending to think about it.)  Perhaps . . .

France: (Thinks about the papers he's signing, and about his and Ivan's arrangements.)

England: (Softly chuckles, shaking his head. He just keeps writing, glad to be in a good mood while he's making this list.)

France: (After another torturous half hour.)  What are you doing~?

England: Ah . . . Therapy homework. Anya has me doing a . . particularly interesting exercise this week.

France: Oh?

England: . . . Indeed. She wanted me to list everything I like about myself.  (The list is not very long, but it has a good dozen things on it. Some of them were stretches, for him. Or  _ 'I  _ **_should_ ** _ like this, so I'll put it down' _ s _. _ )  It's been . . interesting.

France: (Peeks at the list.)  You should add 'silky legs, fluffy hair, adorable eyebrows, and lovely green eyes' to your list.

England: (Lightly blushes, murmuring.)  You'll be able to add it yourself, when I'm done.  (Peers up at him, shy and frightened, hating that he has to do part of this with someone else.)

France: (Smiles.)  I get to help?

England: (Softly smiles back.)  Doctor's orders.

France: (Is much happier with  _ that _ , the demon forcing himself to return to ridiculously complex paperwork.)

England: (Leans against him, comfortable and relaxing.)  Let me know when you're done.

France: (Hums. When he's done, he peers over at Arthur.)  Shall I take the list now?

England: (Carefully hands him the journal, looking at him seriously.)  Don't page through it, alright? Just . . . use this page.

France: Of course, mon petit.  (Takes the journal and starts writing Arthur's cute-isms down in it. 'Fluffy hair, silky legs, adorable eyebrows, lovely green eyes, protective, animal lover, huffy sweetheart, cutest grump, like a fine cup of English tea, is  _ my _ cup of tea, is a snacc, sweet boi, adorable, should be a mama, lovely little breasts, nice little hands, my little warm boi, is basically a bunny, the floofiest thing I have seen in my life, too pure, but has some sexy sass to him. Also has an adorable accent when annoyed or angry. Smells very nice. He is the best smelling angel in the realms'.)  I think I got it all down?

England: (Eyes widen as the list is  _ easily _ doubled.)  Are you sure you put enough  _ down? _

France: I can add more? I don't think I mentioned anything about your butt or how cute you are curled up around a book while sitting on the lounge, or how nice it feels when you hug me or anything about how soft your skin is when I give you kisses.

England: (Blushes horribly.)  N-no, that's not- that's not what what I meant, it's just . . . You put down so much,  _ how-? _

France: It's easy to see what's the worst part of ourselves. I can see all of you.  (Smiles.) I'm not stuck behind your eyes.

England: . . .  (Lays his head on Francis' shoulder, whispering.)  I wish I could see through your eyes.

France: (Wraps an arm around Arthur's waist.)  There, there . . .

England: (Softly.)  How do you see the world so unclouded? How is that actually possible?

France: Centuries of living both some of the best and worst times of my life.

England:  _ *I feel so much younger again when I'm with you, in the best and worst ways . . . _  (He gently takes the journal and reads the list over and over, finding it entirely too adorable and perfect and cute, and  _ dammit. _ He carefully pencils in the few things Francis said after he was done, just silently looking it over. Did he believe it?)

France: (Pulls Arthur into his lap and  _ cuddles _ him.)

England: (Softly whines, holding Francis tightly and wrapping his wings around them both.)

France: (Nuzzles Arthur.)  Do you want me to get you anything?

England: . . .  (Softly.) Tea?

France: (Chuckles.)  Very well, I'll order you up some tea. Do you want anything to eat with that tea?

England: (Murmurs, his fingers softly playing with the other's hair.)  No, thank you, dear. . . (He softly sighs, just resting. Why was he so tired? He took a nap. Why was he  _ always _ so tired?)

France: It's been a stressful time for you, feel free to nap. I'll let you know when the tea comes.

England: (Murmurs.)  It's only been a couple hours.  (Looks at him, tired and worried.)  Something . . doesn't seem  _ right. _

France: Do you feel sick?

England: (Unsure.)  A little, I suppose? I- I don't know . . .

France: Shall I call for a healer?

England: I- . . .  (Softly nods, not giving in to the part of him that screams that he's fine and he shouldn't make other people worry. He rests against Francis, his heart aching painfully as he tries to steady himself.)

France: (Holds Arthur close as he summons a healer, concerned.)

Marco: (Knocks on the door a few minutes later, coming in when he's called. He bows to the king, kindly asking.)  What seems to be the problem, your majesty?

France: I'm afraid Arthur isn't feeling well . . it seemed to come on very suddenly.

England: (Looks up at the healer, carefully shifting off Francis and sitting down in his own chair.)  Y-yes. . .

Marco: (Nods, kindly pulling up a chair and sitting in front of Arthur, everything about him gentle and kind.)  What kind of symptoms are you experiencing, my lady?

England: (Is uneasy and shy, gently rubbing his fingers to calm himself.)  I- My chest aches and I just feel  _ ill. _ I noticed that I was tired when I shouldn't realistically be tired and . . it just went downhill from there.  (Softly.) Very quickly. (Quickly.) I- I really don't know what brought all this on, nothing  _ that stressful _ happened, it just . . . happened.

Marco: Alright, we can work with that. I'm going to check you out, alright?  (At the nod, he opens his bag. He already has a pretty good idea of what's going on, pulling out some instruments to listen to check and Arthur's heart and breathing. He's silent as he listens the first few moments, writing something down before looking at the angel.)  Take a deep breath in? (Arthur does so and he makes some more notes, checking Arthur's blood pressure last.) How were you stressed earlier?

England: (Gently.)  It really was nothing . . . We were talking about my therapy homework, and I guess I was just stressed because . . I wasn't doing as well as I expected? Or hoped?  (Is silent, letting the last measurement be taken.)

Marco: (Kindly.)  How long have you been in therapy?

England: (Softly.)  Only a couple of weeks.

Marco: (Nods.)  You're seeing Dr. Robert, correct?  (At Arthur's nod.) Have you had these feelings before? Painful chest, rapid heartbeat, nausea?

England: . .  (Softly nods.)  Only when I interact with a trigger.

Marco: Was there anything triggering happening to or around you when this started?

England:  _ No, _ that's why I'm so  _ confused. _  (His wings curl around himself.)  This isn't supposed to happen unless something activates it.

Marco: (Softly.)  Anxiety like this can just appear from nothing, at times. You said it was also paired with fatigue?

England: (Nods slowly.)

Marco: (Gently.)  Have you and Dr. Robert spoken about depression?  (Kindly, seeing Arthur's shock.) I'm well aware of your file and the basics of what you've been through. It's not uncommon for this to be a by-product.

England: . . .  (Just sits there, having not thought about it  _ seriously. _ He wondered, a time or two, but it was never brought up, so he never thought  _ to _ bring it up. Softly.)  Oh.

France: (Strokes Arthur's arm comfortingly.)

England: (Slips his hand into Francis', not sure what to do.)  . . I . . . . Now what?

Marco: (Gently.)  Now, we can wait to see if these symptoms of depression subside, or- if you  _ know _ they've been ongoing for a long time -we could move towards a treatment route.

England: (Ducks his head a bit, gently squeezing Francis' hand, silent.)

France: (Looks to Arthur.)  It's your call, mon petit.

England:  _ *No, no, don't make this my call, I don't know what to  _ **_do._ **  (Softly.)  . . . I think . . we should move towards a treatment route. It's been off and on for . .  (Quieter.) . . at least four months.

Marco: (Nods, kind.)  We can do that. Would you mind if I left to get a couple of tests for you?  (At the indifference, he slips out to retrieve them.)

England: (Is silent, staring at his hands like they're the most interesting thing in the world.)

France: (Quietly.)  Arthur?

England: (Just squeezes Francis' hand, silent as a mouse and stressed by all this. So, so stressed.)

France: (Carefully traces his hand up Arthur's back to his neck, gently massaging the angel to try and ease him.)

England: (Stiffens at first, but he glances back at Francis before starting to melt, leaning against the demon and holding him.)

France: (Murmurs.)  I almost want to give you a demon mark. I could help you relax whenever you needed me to, and it would be guaranteed to work.

England: (Softly.)  What kind of mark . . ?

France: (Admits.)  It's a demon mating mark.

England: (Looks up at him, wilting a bit. He doesn't want that, but it would help, but he  _ doesn't want that. _ )

France: I know, not exactly the most ideal solution.

England: (Whispers.)  I . . I really want that to only be a last-ditch effort solution, Francis. I'm sorry, I just-

France:  _ I understand _ .  (Winks.)  It's a little early in the relationship to be proposing marriage, non?

England: (Softly smiles, nodding.)  Oui. Not that you didn't  _ already . . . _  (Softly smirks, wondering if he knows. If Roderich told Antonio and Antonio told Francis?)

France:  . . . ?

England: (Softly chuckles, taking the other's hand and splaying it on his collar, wondering if he gets it.)

France: OH SHIT.  (Blanks.) . . At least if we get carried away, the children won't be bastards?

England: (Laughs, leaning against the demon.)  Indeed . . . (Smirks up at him, the expression a little sweet.)  I suppose you now understand why I was so angry to have it at first?

France: Oui, I do.  (Whispers in Arthur's ear.)  I still don't really regret putting it on you.

England: (Blushes, whispering back.)  Good.

France: (Smirks, kissing Arthur's cheek and then shoulder, withdrawing.)

England: (Softly smiles up at him, it dropping when the healer returns, Arthur squeezing the demon's hand nervously.)

Marco: (Gently smiles to the two, having a folder with a couple tests in it, pulling them out and handing them to Arthur with a pen.)  I just need you to answer these as truthfully as possible. Once you're done, we can talk about it and figure out what would work best for you.

England: (Gently retracts his hand from the king and takes the simple tests, settling in and filling them out. The questions ask about mood and feelings and things like that, all three coming out to their different number results. Returning them to Marco, he sits and listens, wanting to know what was next.)

Marco: (Looks over the tests, comparing to the guide on the reverse and making a few small notations.)  You haven't been feeling well at all, have you, my lady? Especially this one. (Taps on a question about thoughts of death or suicide.)  No one should feel so low that that is their way out, oui? (Compares the three, setting one aside.) I don't think you're bipolar, and your test only supports that. However, I would definitely say you have some form of depression with mild anxiety.  (Pages through a little booklet, nodding to himself.) I have a few different medications that would work well, especially since this may be more short-term than other forms. They'll be easier to come off of. And they're all angel-safe, I've double-checked that, myself.  (Checks over the notes, looking up at Arthur and Francis.) I think a medium dose of Librazal would be a good starting point for you. Do you want to go down the medication route? (At the nod.) Then I can write and fill the prescription immediately for you to start today, if you like.

England: (Gently.)  Thank you, I appreciate that.

France: Those are notes from Roderich, aren't they.

Marco: (Softly smiles.)  Combination notes from him and A.I.R.O. researchers.

France: I remember Antonio talking to me about some of the effects Roderich went through.

Marco: (Nods.)  They were very volatile, at times. We believe we've synthesized medications that are  _ much _ more useful and less interactive, but we've only tested a couple, those being the ones Roderich ended up taking more long-term.

England: (Kindly.)  I'm more than willing to be a guinea pig if we find something that helps.

France: (Hmphs at that. His angel is  _ not _ someone's guinea pig.)

England: (Gives the hand- that he picked back up -a comforting squeeze, looking up at him.)  Francis, if we find something that helps me and they have more data on record, this will also help other angels that need medication like this. I'm  _ more _ than happy to test things out for my benefit and theirs.

Marco: (Gently.)  I promise that there will be no unnecessary testing or medication switch. You are  _ not _ a guinea pig, but you are correct that this data will help us in the future.

France: . . As long as any new doses given out are small, I'm fine with it.

Marco: (Nods.)  Of course, your majesty. Do you have any questions?

England: (Softly shakes his head, looking to Francis if  _ he _ has an questions.)

France: Non.

Marco: (Nods, packing up his bag.)  Then I will go fill that prescription for you and send it up.  (Kindly.) If you two need  _ anything, _ do not hesitate to ask or send for me.  (Bows before leaving.)

France: Merci, have a good day.

England: (Leans into Francis, watching the healer leave. Maybe this will help him. Maybe he'll finally start to feel better.)

France: (Pets through Arthur's hair.)  I hope these medications work better than they did for Roderich . . .

England: (Kindly.)  Roderich didn't tell me about that.  (Looks up at him.) What happened?

France: I don't remember all of them, but I do remember a few . . one was very weak but still addictive, and another one made him completely feral.

England: Oh. I understand what you mean . . .

France: It doesn't help it sounds like Roderich was skimming his heat, and Antonio his rut . . .

England:  _ Oh. _ That's even worse.

France:  _ Oui _ .

England: (Shifts awkwardly, not actually sure when his last heat was. Or when the next one is due.)

France: (Pats Arthur on the head.)  You'll feel it when it comes.

England: (Quirks an eyebrow up at him.)  You don't say.

France: (Coos.)  Cute little angel who I think is the most adorable sub  _ ever _ .

England: (Rolls his eyes.)  Honestly, you're ridiculous. A complete and utter flirt. Really, Francis, do you do anything else?

France: (Teases.)  I rule the South West, on occasion.

England:  _ When? _ For three minutes a day while you flirt with me the rest of the time you're awake?  (Smirks.)

France: I  _ wish _ it was just three minutes. Instead it's years of paperwork, mon lapin.

England: (Coos.)  Years and years and years, darling. You'll never possibly finish it all, oui?

France: Not as long as I rule,  _ 'darling' _ .  (Francis chuckles.)

England: (Laughs, smiling at Francis. Gently.)  May I ask you a silly question?

France: Yes?

England: (Softly chuckles, his eyes just bright and sweet and innocent when he asks this.)  Is there any name or nickname you secretly want to call me but don't? (Tiny blush.) I admit I wish I called you 'darling' more often. . .

France: There is a nickname or two I do want to call you . . but you're not ready for them yet.  (Smiles.)

England: (Pouts.)  Well, that's just unfair. . .

France: (Laughs.)  I have to give you  _ something _ to look forward to.

England: Hmph!  (Crosses his arms a little poutily.)

France: (Chuckles.)   _ Mignon _ .

England: You only say that . . .  (Doesn't look at Francis, but he's only teasing.)

France: (Nuzzles Arthur's neck.)  Because it's  _ true~ _ .

England: (Stiffens a bit, but he forces himself to relax and try to erase the trigger. He softly purrs and bares his neck a little to the other, smiling.)   _ Is _ it?

France: Oui~. You're far too cute to lie to.

England: (Chuckles, smiling.)  I'm glad you think so . . .

France: Mm, I want to spoil you again . .

England: (Curiously.)  How so?

France: Maybe just a few gifts . . a new dress, maybe an automaton . .  (Pecks Arthur's neck before peering up at him.) What do you think?

England: (Peers back, kissing the other's forehead before murmuring.)  I will never stop you from giving me a gift, but know that I appreciate you the most out of any of their presence.  (Softly smiles, murmuring.) Even though you're often busy.

France: For which I am sorry, mon petit.

England: (Gently strokes through his hair.)  I know, it's alright. You are the king and you must be there for your kingdom.

France: (Smiles.)  Thank you for understanding.

England: (Softly.)  Of course. I still enjoy spending time with you. It's . . calm. Quiet. Helpful for me, especially when you're working. Not quite socialization, but it recharges the soul.

France: (Smirks.)  Am I your battery charger? Do you run low on 'Francis energy'?

England: (Chuckles.)  More like my emotional charger.  --  _ *I can always feel the love you emanate. _

France: (Snuggles Arthur.)  Angels are so cute.  _ You _ are so cute.

England: (Snuggles back, amused.)  I'm glad you think so, darling.

France: (Picks Arthur up.)  Mine~.

England: (Holds onto Francis securely, but he trusts the demon to not drop him. He smiles.)  I suppose I am, aren't I?

France: Oui~.  (Nuzzles Arthur's cheek, his stubble scratching against Arthur's cheek.)  . . May I pick out a different dress for you, mon petit?

England: (Nuzzles back, smiling happily.)  You may.

France: (Grins, carrying Arthur to his room and digging through his closet before carefully handing him the dress.)  This one, please?

England: (Blushes at how cutesy it is, but he takes the dress and going around the divider to change, slipping into the different pieces of the outfit. When he's dressed, he comes around and gives a little twirl.)  What do you think?

France: (HAS A HEART ATTACK.)  Too . . cute . . . ( _ Twitches _ .)

England: (Laughs, going and pecking the demon on the cheek.)  You like it, then?

France: (Squeezes Arthur in a hug.)   _ Yes _ .

England: (Loops his arms around the back of Francis' neck, preening happily.)  Good~.

France: Honestly, this dress- the entire outfit- looks absolutely  _ amazing _ on you.

England: (Blushes, murmuring.)  You really mean it?

France:  _ Oui _ . I think maybe you should consider looking at this particular style more often.

England: (Softly purrs, preening a bit more.)  I think I'll have to talk to Jakub about it. . .

France: (Can't help but play with Arthur's skirt a little, fascinated by its movement.)

England: (Smoothly moves, almost dancing to show off its cute movements, smiling happily.)

France: ( _ Squees _ .)

England: (Spins happily, carefree and relaxed. He likes this a lot. Just spending time with Francis, relaxing, enjoying himself, laughing and having fun. It was wonderful.)

France: I could happily just watch you play in that dress all day. I . . would really love to take some pictures of you in it.

England: (Softly smiles.)  If you want to, you may.

France: (Quickly leaves, grabbing a few different kinds of image parchment before returning and holding a piece up to capture Arthur lightly twirling.)  Perfect.

England: (Gently.)  Let me know if you want me to do anything, darling. . .

France: Would you be opposed to going to the menagerie and hang around the pavilion?

England: Not a bit, dear.  (Smiles, gently letting down his hair as he walked over, fixing it and letting it relax and fall into slight waves from the tight updo it was in. He gives it a light flip, glad that it's bouncy but not  _ everywhere _ like it used to be. (TLC is really all it needed. A lot of TLC.))

France: (Escorts Arthur to the menagerie where he then begins his 'photoshoot', happily taking image after image of the angel sitting, wandering through the flowers, petting some animals- basically shots of Arthur doing everything.)

England: (At some point, starts to ignore Francis and just  _ be, _ letting the demon follow him and take images as he likes. When he finds a small, beautiful red flower, he picks it and brings it to the demon. Going on his tip-toes, he tucks it behind Francis' ear and smiles.)  It suits you.

France: Red flowers are my favorite.

England: (Curiously.)  Why?

France: They always just seem so . . clean and fresh. At least to  _ moi _ .

England: (Smiles gently.)  I agree. And they're bold and beautiful, whether they're small or large. Little pops of wonder.

France: Exactly.

England: (Happy, he goes off, deeper into the trees, and just walks through the bramble, fixing things and taking care of  _ his _ menagerie. (Kind of his, but he's the caretaker.))

France: (Keeps Arthur well away from the Damned Chickens.)

England: (Doesn't mind a bit, taking care of the vast  _ other _ chunks of area. It's a wonderful distraction from himself, caring for the menagerie. It's helpful.)

France: (Also prevents the dress from getting any snags.)

England: (Is very focused on the menagerie, very caring about the life in this area. They're all innocent and wonderful.)

France: (Grabs a hawk that was about to dive at some Slightly Less Damned Chickens.)  Non. (Throws it back up into the air.)

Hawk: (IS SO CONFUSED. Flaps away.)

England: (Chuckles at the hawk, smiling at Francis.)  Are you enjoying yourself, darling?

France: Oui, you look so at peace right now, ma chenille.

England: (Gently.)  I am. It's calm and perfectly peaceful out here. . .  (He shifts, feeling the metal collar around his neck shift awkwardly, the angel fingering it for a few moments.)  . . . Francis, may I ask a favor?

France: Of course, chenille.

England: (Looks to the demon, lightly pulling at the collar.)  Would you remove this, at least for a while? I . . I want to feel my power again. I can only do so much without it.

France: (Takes the collar off, stuffing it in his coat.)  There you go~.

England: (Gasps, his wings flaring out a little as his power flows back through him without restriction, the angel beaming happily.)   _ Thank you. _

France: You're welcome~.

England: (Pecks the demon's cheek, pulling away and letting his energy flow easily, like water, over the surface of his arms and hands. He purrs happily, so tempted to just  _ sing, _ to make this his home, make it  _ his- _ But he doesn't. Something stops him and he doesn't know what, but he ignores the idea altogether, continuing to walk and heal and care, even still.)

France: (Just follows along and takes more pictures~.)

England: (As he walks, he ignores the light throb that still lies persistently under the surface, not allowing to ruin this moment.)

France: (Helps Arthur over some rocks.)

England: (Smiles.)  Thank you, dear.

France: De rien~.

England: (Softly purrs, falling in alongside him.)  Get a lot of nice photographs?

France: I did~.

England: (Sweetly.)  May I see~?

France: (Gives the stack to Arthur.)

England: (Stops, looking through them with a gentle smile.)  . . These are beautiful, Francis . . . You really have an eye for this, don't you?

France: (Grins.)  There  _ is _ a reason why the South West became the fashion country in Hell, mon lapin.

England: (Chuckles.)  Because of you?

France:  _ Duuuuuuh _ .

England: (Laughs.)  You  _ are _ quite the fashionable demon, aren't you?

France: (Gives his hair a flip.)   _ Obviously _ .

England: (Amused.)  Weird Frenchman. . .

France: (Smirks.)  Bland Englishman.

England: (Also smirks.)  Shameless flirt.

France: Prude.

England: Hmph!  _ Frog. _

France:  _ Bushy-brows _ .

England:  _ Womanly curls. _

France: Womanly  _ thighs _ .

England: Womanly  _ face. _

France: Womanly  _ butt _ .

England: (Smirks.)  It's a good butt.

France: (Pinches the booty.)  It is~.

England: (Lightly smacks Francis' hand, laughing.)

France: (Teases.)  I just had to reaffirm that fact, ma chenille.

England: (Teases back.)  Oh, I'm  _ sure~. _

France: I'm glad you agree~.

England: (Giggles quietly, flicking him with his wing lightly.)

France: (Picks Arthur up by the waist from behind, wrapping his arms around him in a hug and pecking his cheek.)  Cutie.

England: (Purrs twisting around and pecking Francis' cheek in return, smiling.)  Sweet.

France: (Grinning, he carries the angel.)

England: (Just holds onto the demon, cuddling in with a smile.)  What's your favorite part of the menagerie?

France: You~.

England: (Chuckles.)  The  _ menagerie, _ Francis, not  _ me. _

France: (Pouts.)  . . . I like . . the pavilion.

England: (Gently.)  Just the pavilion? Why?

France: I designed it.

England: (Sweetly smiles.)  Really? It truly is beautiful . . .

France: (Preens.)   _ Merci _ .

England:  _ De rein. _

France: (Nuzzles, then glancing at his bangle when he feels it heat up.)  The medication is ready.

England: (Takes a deep breath, nodding.)  Good. (Gently.) I hope it helps.

France: Moi aussi, ma chenille.

England: (Nuzzles Francis sweetly, worried, but willing and hopeful to move forward and  _ heal. _ Softly.)  Should we head back, then?

France: Oui.  (Carries Arthur.)

England: (Just holds on, leaning against him. He gently murmurs.)  Thank you.

France: For you, anything.

England: (Softly pecks the demon's jaw, huddling in his arms. As they're walking down the hall, he doesn't hear or see a servant coming towards them until she's suddenly and unexpectedly  **_there,_ ** flinching  _ hard _ into Francis. He buries his face in the demon, taking deep breaths.  _ He usually hears people coming. _ He was so zoned out, he didn't hear a thing.)

France: (Wraps his wings around Arthur protectively, murmuring reassurances in his ear as they go back into his study.)

England: ( _ Clings, _ gladly relaxing when it's just them in Francis' study. He stays quiet, slipping out of the demon's arms and making a beeline for the pill bottle left on the desk. He reads over the label before taking the dose quickly. He wants these feelings to be gone. He wants to feel safe in his home. He wants to be okay.)

France: (Gently slips the bottle out of Arthur's fingers and reads it himself, relieved that Arthur took the correct dosage.)

England: (Gently rubs his hands nervously, trying not to shake. He's not used to being spooked anymore by people.)

France: (Glances up at Arthur. Tentatively.)  Mon petit . . maybe  _ I _ should hold onto your medication.

England: (Looks at him, eyebrows furrowed.)  Why do you say that?

France: I don't . . maybe for the first few days? And then you let me know how addictive it feels?

England: (Sighs, shaking his head.)  Antidepressants shouldn't be addicting, love.

France: This is Hell, Arthur. The rules are a little different here.

England: (Huffs, grumbling.)  Fine. You can hold onto them for the first week. Is that alright?

France: Yes, thank you.

England: (Nods a civil answer, but is a little upset. He doesn't really know much about demonic medications. This is unfamiliar territory for him. Who knows what could happen.)

France: Also, for the first night or two, I was wondering if you would be willing to stay with someone. Just in case.

England: (A little exasperated.)  Would it make you feel better if I stayed with you, so you knew how I was doing?

France: Please?

England: (At the demon's gentle, pleading expression, he wilts a little, hesitantly nodding.)  Alright. I'll stay with you for a few nights.

France: (Kisses his cheeks.)   _ Thank you _ .

England: (Softly sighs, leaning against the demon.)  Of course. I know you mean well.

France: (Kisses the top of Arthur's head.)  I do.

England: (Stays snuggled in for a little while before gently pulling away and grabbing the soft blanket from the sofa, curling up.)  I'm just . . going to rest awhile.

France: Maybe a bath would make you feel better?

England: (Gently.)  Maybe. (Looks up Francis, softly smiling.)  I'm just a little stressed right now. I think I'll be alright soon.

France: Do you want me to do anything right away?

England: (Shakes his head before pausing, looking amused.)  Tea with honey? I don't think I ever got my cuppa earlier.

France: (Chuckles, ordering the angel his tea. Amused.)  It should be up in a few minutes.

England: (Smiles.)  Thank you, Francis.

France: (Teases.)  We need to keep you fueled up  _ somehow _ , don't we?

England: (Chuckles.)  Indeed. I need my tea, or else I don't function at all.  (Smirks.) Tea is the most important meal of the day, you know.

France: I think you mean baguettes are.

England: (Scoffs.)  Absolutely not.  _ Tea. _

France:  _ Baguettes _ .

England:  _ Tea. _

France:  _ Baguettes _ .

England: (Indignantly.)   _ Tea, _ you  _ cretin. _

France:  _ Baguettes!!! _

England:  _ Tea! _  (Relaxes when his tea arrives, smiling kindly at the servant and taking his cup.)  Thank you, darling. (To Francis, not smiling at all.) Not you.

France: . . . Ho.

England: (Gasps, turning away and drinking his tea.)   _ Scoundrel. _

France: . .  _ Feisty _ ho.

England: (Quirks an eyebrow at him.)  Deviant.

France:  _ Sexy sub _ .

England: . . .  (This is reverse psychology. He will not complement the demon back.)

France:  _ Gorgeous angel _ .

England: I know what you're trying to do. It won't work.

France: (Smirks.)   _ Clever boy _ .

England: (Smirks.)  This is news to you?

France: Just stating a fact, little angel.

England: (Hums.)  I'm sure. . .

France: (Eats a baguette.)

England: (Drinks his tea.)

France: I'm going to do some art. See you tonight, ma chenille?

England: (Kindly.)  See you tonight, dear. Go enjoy your art. I'll be around here.

France: (Leaves, working on a free paintings of Arthur.)

England: (Rests for awhile on the sofa before moving around a bit. He eventually takes a bath, but- feeling sick partway through -returned to his room to curl up in bed, miserably nauseous. He read the label. He knew this was a common side-effect. It didn't make it any nicer. He laid there for a long time, unable to sleep and unwilling to move, until it was time for him to go to Francis' room, reluctantly rising. He doesn't move particularly quickly or suddenly, trying to keep himself from feeling any sicker as he crawls into the  _ much _ larger bed, curling up.)

France: (Comes in quietly, whispering.)  Arthur?

England: (Looks up, whining softly as he huddles in his wings.)

France: (Pulls on his pajama bottoms and slides in next to the angel. He murmurs.)  Goodnight, Arthur.

England: (Rests beside the demon, murmuring back.)  Goodnight, Francis . . . (He drifts off uneasily, ending up snuggled into the demon's side during the night.)

France: (Is 1000000000% five with that.)

England: (Is at peace for a few hours, waking in the demon's arms the next morning, still feeling sick.)

France: (Peeks down at Arthur, the angel burrowed into his chest. Softly.)  You still don't feel good?

England: (Softly nods, murmuring.)  I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach . . . multiple times . . .

France: Do you want me to call for the healer?

England: (Softly.)  No . . . Nausea is common. I just need to ride it out.

France: Do you want anything to try and settle your stomach?

England: (Shakes his head gently.)  I don't think I could stomach anything right now.

France: Not even water, or a little bit of rice?

England: (Placatingly.)  A little water?

France: (Gets Arthur some water, handing it to the angel.)

England: (Shifts a bit, sipping the water a bit before handing it back, content to  _ not _ make his body hate him anymore than it does.)  Thank you.

France: You're welcome. There's a bucket next to the bed if you can't hold it in.

England: (Grimaces.)  Hopefully it doesn't get that bad. . .

France: We may need to try something else.

England: (Looks at Francis seriously.)  We need to give it  _ time. _ Bodies need time to adjust to weird things being added, don't you think?

France: No shit but if the symptoms continue to be this painful, you will try something else.

England: (Tiredly.)  Francis.

France: (Raises an eyebrow at Arthur.)

England: (Gently, not wanting to argue.)  Let's give it a week. If it continues to be a problem, we'll talk to the healer and potentially try something else. Alright?

France: (Nods.)  That's all I wanted.

England: Okay.  (Curls up, just resting. When he's not moving, he doesn't feel as bad.)

France: Shall I leave you alone for now?

England: (Gently.)  If you like. I don't mind if you're here, but I know you may be busy.

France: I don't want to bother you, so I will do my work in my study.  (He nods to Arthur, taking his leave.)

England: (Rests, curled up comfortably and napping for a little while before reading, just passing the time until he feels well enough to get up and walk around, ordering a light lunch for himself in the afternoon. Returning to his room, he dressed loosely and relaxedly before padding back to sit with Francis. (The demon seemed  _ extremely _ concerned about him.) He brought his journal, deciding to document this process for his sessions with Anya while sitting on the sofa.)

France: (Glances up at Arthur but goes back to his work, his tail flicking unhappily.)

England: (Can sense the other's agitation and unhappiness  _ easily _ in the room, but doesn't say anything, trying to look well and act well to put the other at ease.)

France: (Ignores Arthur without ignoring him.)

England: (Writes down the events and symptoms of everything, still hoping so deeply that it all works.)

France: (Mutedly.)  I like your dress.

England: (Softly smiles.)  Thank you, Francis. You're very well-dressed, yourself.

France: (Nods, back to work.)

England: (Goes back to writing down his symptoms and everything, pausing when he's done.)  . . . Cermaka?

Czech Republic: (Slips out of his shadow, smiling kindly.)  Yes, my lady?

England: Could you get me all the medical information on Librazal please?

Czech Republic: Of course.  (Disappears, searching for the documents, studies, and other information she can find. She returns about ten minutes later, bringing a small stack of documents.)  All the medical information on Librazal in the palace. I also requested information from A.I.R.O. They're gathering it now and will deliver it later.

England: (Kindly.)  Thank you, Cermaka. You are excused.  (Delves into the documents, researching all the information he can about the medication, its effects on angels, the results of different studies, and more. He wants to know what  _ exactly _ he's putting into his body.)

France: (Silently listens, loving the angel for doing his own research on the topic.)

England: (Takes full notes on all the documents possible, getting a large array of information. While he doesn't realize it at first, he starts to feel a bit better and less sick as the day goes on, the angel actually having a decent amount of energy for a change.)

France: (Eats supper.)

England: (Noticing the food, he orders himself some dinner and tea as well, feeling well enough for it.)

France: (Is relieved Arthur is eating.)

England: (Is just relaxed, not even paying attention to his surroundings, very into his research.)

France: (Done, he comes over and pecks Arthur's cheek.)  How's it going?

England: (Looks up, nodding.)  It's going well. I'm almost done sifting through all this and . . I think this is going to be okay.

France: Bon.

England: (Softly smiles at Francis.)  I don't feel too sick anymore . . . but I suppose it's almost been a day since the first dose. It says that the nausea wears off after five to nine days, so I'm not too worried about it.

France: Good, I was worried it might be over two weeks of this.

England: (Gently.)  No, no, that's when we can get properly worried.

France: I'm glad we know what to look out for now.

England: I agree. I'm much less worried about all this, now that I've looked through all this.

France: (Nuzzles Arthur.)  Now to just watch and wait, ma chenille.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!! I love hearing from people who read this story!


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